


Beat The Devil's Tattoo

by Heronfem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape, Forced Prostitution, Grief/Mourning, Motorcycle AU, Multi, Torture, cult situations, forced body modification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has a complicated life. His father has just died, his brother is dating the local arms dealer’s daughter, and he’s just become president of the Winchester Motorcycle Club. And then, to top it off, his best friend shows up after 8 years of radio silence with the look of a man who’s seen too much and missing his twin. As Dean starts to untangle Castiel’s past, he finds himself thrown into a fight for the future of the town he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. End of An Era

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Scrawnysteves, who was the one who inspired this work. Without them, it would not exist. 
> 
> Dedicated also to Hannah. Never give up, you're amazing, and I'm so very proud of you. Thank you for being my artist when no one else would take a chance.
> 
> The art masterpost is here: http://hollowstomached.livejournal.com/1803.html

The same year that Dean took up smoking, Castiel and Jimmy Novak left town in the dead of night, leaving only a note on paper torn from a calculus notebook that read "New York" in Jimmy's bold, hard print and a scribbled "sorry" in Castiel's cursive on their parents round wooden dining table. They took Castiel's beat up black '73 Cadillac Fleetwood, which was more rust than anything, and disappeared.

Life went on.

Dean was unaware of what had caused the decision that they made to flee, but he said nothing. He chain smoked his way through a freezer bag of marijuana, and never touched the stuff again after he woke up from the most horrific nightmares he'd ever had. Sam settled into his bedroom with him to make sure he didn't try again, and John just clapped him on the shoulder and went to work when he heard that Dean had surfaced.

And, when he was a bit more rational, Dean did too.

oOo

It rained on the day that they buried him, but Dean didn't feel particularly sad. He mostly felt angry, and when they walked away from the grave, he felt eyes on him. Sam walked on his right, holding the umbrella, his left side empty. Behind him, the rest of the club walked back to the bikes, and as he lit up, he watched the smoke curl into the air. John was dead, the club was his, and there would be hell to pay for his old man's stupidity.

"Meet you at the house," Sam muttered, peeling off and handing him the umbrella. Dean's lips curled back in a silent snarl when he saw Ruby Masters leaning against a tree in all black, her hair pulled back and the yellow and black mustang parked nearby. Benny stepped up to his side as they headed for the bikes, and Dean nodded his acceptance and approval.

The main, ranking members of the club climbed onto their bikes, and Dean nodded to Bobby to lead them out. Benny stayed beside him, waiting for Dean to calm down enough to talk to him.

"I want her dealt with," Dean said once he'd finished off the cigarette. "I want Sam out of her clutches."

"So do I, brother, but you and I both know that Sam's got to come to that sweet little conclusion by his own big self. Push too hard too fast, we both know he'll swan dive right off the deep end," Benny said, his voice a low drawl. The trees above them rattled with the raindrops hitting their leaves, and as Dean bitterly looked over the cemetery slowly emptying of people, he wished, not for the first time, Castiel was still there.

"I know," he muttered. "You comin' round tonight?"

"Am I getting laid tonight?" Benny countered, twitching an eyebrow up. "Because I love you, boss, I do, but I can only tolerate so much drinking, you know that."

Dean grunted, folding up the umbrella. The shower was starting to clear, anyway. "I know. And no, I suppose you won't be. Think I might make it an early night anyway. With the wake, and Sam…" his voice trailed off, and he viciously shook his head. "I can't do people right now. In more ways than one."

That got a chuckle out of Benny, who went and climbed onto his bike. It was an ugly, ancient thing that had been warped and twisted until it barely resembled the original 1950 Panhead it was. The paint was mottled, a weird mix of blue, green, and brown that changed in the light, and the leather had been painted an ugly, bloody red. More than one person had remarked on what a sin it was that the bike was so fucked up, with useless winding piping and the strange color and leather, but Benny had never explained himself, and no one had ever quite dared ask where it had developed all the embellishments.

Dean watched him ride away, and slowly turned back to his own bike. He'd dusted off the old Impala for this, and ran a fond hand over his father's first before climbing on. Sam's hideously red Ducati Monster was parked nearby, but he was still chatting up Ruby and probably sharing hair care secrets, so he climbed on and shot away. The rain wasn't vicious now, not hardly drizzling, so he ignored the visor and headed for home.

Home, as it was, was a stubby two level house built in the late fifties by the late and unmourned Henry Winchester, former clock maker. He'd up and vanished out of nowhere, leaving a wife and four year old son. There was a tiny porch that ran flat against the house, the sitting room with its bay window bulging to even with it, white trim and grey paint, a grey board fence, and shaggy yellow-green grass. The curtains in the windows were blackout curtains, except in the kitchen, which were white lace. Dean parked in the unattached garage, and stomped into the mud room, shutting the old white door behind him.

A pair of his fathers boots sat on the rug next to the bench. He quietly hung up his keys on the hook marked "Dean", his jacket below them, and sank onto the bench. For a long moment, he simply stared at the boots. They were nothing remarkable, just ugly brown leather with steel toes, and strung with mismatched laces. There were burn marks here and there on them from welding, and one of the laces was starting to fray. The heels and toes were scuffed, and in one spot the metal was peeking through.

Dean lowered his face in his hands, and finally the grief came. It poured onto him in waves, and soon his voice was hoarse from the sobs. It was a good hour before he wrested control again, and his face was a wreck when he had. He stomped into the kitchen to clean up, taking a deep breath after he'd scrubbed his face down and blown his nose. He headed for the stairs, taking them slowly as he went up to his room.

There were only two small rooms in the upstairs, an open area that had turned into something of a lounge, and a cramped bathroom with standing room only in the shower. The master bed and bath were on the main level. Dean's room was farthest from the stairs, and he pushed the door open.

It was plain, boring. Not much to see. Just a bed, desk, and dresser, the closet neatly closed and the bed made with military corners. A trunk at the bottom of the bed- fireproof- held all of his valuables, and he slowly sat on the bed, looking around. No posters on the plain white walls, no signs on the desk or dresser that anyone actually lived here. It looked like a furnished and cheap apartment, with the ancient 70's orange shag carpet still intact. He toed off his boots and curled up on the bed, feeling very small and alone.

He had responsibilities now. He was going to be in charge. All because his father had been decimated by a drunk, deranged man with a semi.

He closed his eyes, and hoped like hell he wasn't going to dream.

oOo

Dean woke at roughly 3:00, and couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He stared blankly at the ceiling of his room for a while, wondering, and then heard it again.

The doorbell.

At 3:00 in the morning.

He rolled out of bed, baffled, and padded down the stairs. There, at the front door, was a man he never thought he'd see again. He pulled the door open, staring in dumbfounded shock at the man he found there.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel Novak said quietly, looking him dead in the eye. "May I come in?

oOo

Dean Winchester met Castiel and Jimmy Novak three days after they were born. Michael Novak had been John's right hand and closest friend for years, and was Dean's godfather. His wife, a rather severe woman named Hester who may or may not have been CIA at some point, left the second she could walk, leaving Michael with two tiny babies and nowhere to turn but one Mary Winchester. Dean was only two months older than the twins, so while Michael and John got the shop off the ground, Mary juggled three children under a year old, and apparently never said a word about it, the way John told it. Dean had his doubts about that.

Sam came along not much later, and then Mary died, burning to death in the house that John had bought for the two of them when they finally had their feet under them.

So the remnants of the Winchester family moved back to the house that Henry built, and razed the first house to the ground. John donated the place to be a park. His children tried to go regularly.

And that's when the club started.

There were only a few at first- long, lean men recently back from a war that chewed them up and spit them out. And one woman, Ellen Harvelle, whose husband was John's third. John, Bobby, Daniel, Michael, and Bill, with Ellen at their side. Bill died first, in a shoot out with a rival club far to the North. Michael left when Castiel and Jimmy turned fifteen. Daniel got the itch to wander, and wandered his way all the way up to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Ellen left, and started the Roadhouse, where the club was welcome but was never allowed to do business. Bobby and John had a falling out that was only remedied when Dean finally went and pacified them both.

And there were the others. So many of them came floating into the safety of the Winchester club, and many stayed. Benny was just one of the many lost souls who found home in Prosperity, California.

And now John was dead, Castiel was back, and Sam wasn't home.

Dean stirred his coffee for a long time before drinking it.

"Where's Jimmy?" he finally asked, his voice a low rasp. He sounded horrible, and knew it, but Castiel was just sitting there, dull eyed and staring at his cup.

"Can't tell you," he said slowly, his voice a deeper gravel than Dean remembered. "Excuse me. Won't tell you. It's too risky. He's already in danger, you know."

"Is he?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "Cas, what did you get into when you were away?"

Blue eyes flicked up at him. "Religion."

There was a long, heavy pause.

"You mean to tell me," Dean said slowly, leaning forward, "that you ran out of town in the dead of night, with your brother, alone, with 100 dollars you stole from your father's wallet, to get religion?"

"It wasn't quite like that," Castiel said, lowering his eyes again. He was fiddling with the table cloth, fuzzily tugging at the edges. The round table, situated in the kitchen, had long been an object of annoyance to Dean ("We have a perfectly fine sitting room that could use a table, it's not like we're doing anything with it!"), but right now he didn't give a damn about how annoying it was, as long as Castiel stayed sitting at it. The man looked worse for the wear, a healing cut on his cheekbone and a faded bruise at his eye.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked softly, and didn't miss the way Castiel flinched, like the words hurt.

"It's nothing I won't recover from." Abruptly, he stood up. "I'm sorry for intruding, I- I'm going to the hotel-"

"Over my dead body are you sleeping on those bed bug infested mattresses," Dean growled indignantly. "I haven't seen you in eight years now, you aren't getting away that easily."

As it turned out, Castiel only had one bag to his name. It was a long green military duffel that looked like it might have been surplus from World War I, with how old it was. Dean lugged it up the stairs to his bedroom, and Castiel looked around like it was a five star hotel, his eyes fixing on the bed with an expression of deep, desperate longing. Still, he hesitated until Dean nodded to go forward and fell onto the bed, dragging Dean's pillow in under him. "This is wonderful," he mumbled, clearly relaxing.

"Cas…How'd you even get here?" Dean asked after watching him for a bit.

"Bus," Castiel admitted, rolling onto his back. "The greyhound stops about a quarter mile from here."

"And you were going to walk clear to the other side of town to get into a hotel," Dean muttered disapprovingly, shaking his head. "Honestly." Castiel cracked a bit of a smile, which Dean counted as a win. "I'll let you sleep. I'll be out on the couch if you need anything."

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly, still hugging the pillow. "And…I'm sorry. I heard about your father."

The words stung, but Dean simply nodded his thanks, closing the door behind him as he dragged himself to the couch in the lounge and fell down onto it. Exhaustion was starting to take him again, and he soon fell deep into heavy, thick slumber.


	2. Oath and Covenant

Sam quietly eased the door of the mudroom shut, listening to the house around him. There were no sounds, and so when he toed off his boots and hung up his jacket and keys, all he felt was relief. Coming in at 10 AM wasn't going to win him any favors with Dean, especially since he was such a wreck at the moment. And Sam was a wreck as well, granted, but nowhere near as bad as Dean was.

He walked into the kitchen, and froze when he saw Dean sitting at the table, calmly looking at him with hard eyes. He felt pinned, and it was all he could do not to bolt.

"How's the whore?" he asked, his voice pure ice.

Sam's skin crawled, and not for the first time he remembered that Dean outranked even the oldest members of the club for a reason.

"Fine," he said stiffly, but his voice was small. "She's fine."

Dean smiled, his teeth flashing dangerously. "Good. How about you sit down and I'll make some breakfast."

"Sure," Sam said cautiously, walking over and sinking into his seat. "Uh. Dean. I wasn't at Ruby's last night?"

"Oh?" Dean stood up, padding over to the refrigerator and fetching out eggs. He looked mostly innocent right now, like every other 26 year old man. Sweats, loose and gray, and a comfortable black t-shirt were all he was wearing, and if Sam didn't know that Dean was a master at Krav Maga, then he would consider him almost delicate. "Where were you then?"

"Andy's," Sam admitted, and watched the tension slide from Dean's shoulders. Andy may have been a weed smoking, fast talking little fiend, but he wasn't Ruby and that was the important thing to take away from this. Sam let out a silent breath of relief as Dean cracked eggs into the skillet, quietly humming. Dean was a good cook, and when he was in a good mood he made almost pornographically good food.

The sound of feet on the stairs started him, and he jerked his head up to see none other than Castiel Novak sleepily stumbling down them, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like hell, his jeans shabby and torn up, his Henley full of holes. He was thinner than Sam remembered, his hair shaggier. His face was banged up as well, and when he saw Sam he froze, clearly trying to decide whether or not to bolt.

"Sit down, Cas," Dean rumbled as he grated cheese into the skillet. "Breakfast should be done soon."

Castiel and Sam kept up their staring contest, but Castiel slowly stepped off the last stair into the kitchen and reluctantly walked over to the table. Dean's eyes followed him for a moment, narrowed, as if trying to firmly insist that he sit down. Castiel did, and the two stared at each other.

"So," Sam said awkwardly when the silence stretched too thin. "You're, uh. Back in town."

"I am," Castiel agreed, his voice deeper than when he left. "You got tall."

"I did," Sam agreed. "I was what…5'6" when you left?"

"Something like that."

They stared again, and were only interrupted when Dean slammed plates onto the table. "Dig in," he said gruffly. "I'm going to work on the bacon." He stumped back over to the stove, muttering under his breath about stupid brothers and hair and possibly something about the color orange. Sam and Castiel exchanged eye brow raises, and shrugged, digging in. The food was good, after all, and while Sam knew his body would be throwing a fit later for all the cheese after he ate some of the leftover funeral potatoes for lunch, he couldn't quite give it up. Dean's cooking wasn't something to be taken lightly, after all, and he rarely made full meals anymore. He had too much work to do with the club, and more often than not they ate in the bar rather than at the house.

Dean came back with the bacon and sat down to eat, eyes flicking to Castiel. The man was devouring food like he hadn't seen it in months, his eyes blissed out and heavy lidded as he did. Sam just shrugged when Dean looked at him.

"Cas," Dean said with a slight cough. "We have a lot more food. You don't have to eat it all in one sitting."

Castiel looked up guiltily, a piece of bacon protruding lightly from his lips.

"S'rry," he mumbled around it, and Sam smothered his grin. He looked so wide eyed and contrite, a combination that Dean could never resist if he wanted to, and sure enough Dean just made a helpless noise, shook his head, and went back to his food.

They didn't talk about why Castiel was back. Sam knew just by looking at him that he was running from something, and that wasn't something he could bring up over breakfast. Castiel had always been Dean's favorite friend, and even though it wasn't ever talked about, it was a well known fact that the two of them would have ended up together if the timing had been right. Hell, it was pretty much common knowledge that the two were regularly spending time of a romantically inclined nature together. Or, at least a sexually inclined one.

But instead, Jimmy and Castiel had fled to New York with only a single "sorry" left behind, and Dean had refused to ever talk about it again.

When they finished up, Dean whisked away the plates for cleaning, and Sam carefully stood up.

"Don't think for a moment you're getting out of that meeting, Sam," Dean said without even turning his head as he turned on the faucet and grabbed a sponge. "6 o'clock, and god help you if you're late, I will put itching powder in your leathers."

Sam groaned, and grumbled his agreement before trudging up the stairs to his room. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd be able to get some rest.

oOo

"Thank you for breakfast," Castiel said as he helped Dean dry. He shrugged, putting the plates into the cupboard.

"It was nothing," he said, and started on the silverware. "So. You headed back to your Dad's place?"

Castiel looked down at the plate he held, shaking his head quietly. "I'm going to the hotel," he said, his voice much softer. "I can't- I can't face him right now."

Dean pulled open the drawers and started putting away the utensils. "You know he's sick, Cas? Has been for about a year. Complications from pneumonia from what I understand, they're not expecting him to last very long the way things are going."

If Castiel hadn't already put the plate in the stack with the others, he would have dropped it. As it was, he slid to the floor, eyes blown wide as he tried to suck in air. Dean let out a breath of curses, dropping to his knees and pulling Castiel into him.

"Hey, hey," he said, heart hammering as he pressed their chests together. "Match me, okay?" He started breathing slowly, his hands on Castiel's back pressing to get him to do the same. It took a bit, but it worked, and slowly Castiel's breathing calmed, leaving him trembling. He wasn't the same solid, healthy 19 year old that had left, and as Dean ran his hand up and down his back, he felt the bump of spine. A twinge of unease slid into him, curling in his stomach as Castiel exhaled slowly, leaning into his shoulder.

"You always know how to calm me down," he mumbled, blinking slowly as the tremors started to slow.

"19 years of knowing a guy, I'd better," Dean half joked, but his eyes were worried and ashamed. Scooping him up was too easy, and as he hefted Castiel's weight he wasn't even rewarded with indignant words or a fight. Castiel just leaned into him, letting Dean take him to the old couch in the sitting room. It was strange to be touching him, stranger still to even see him, and as Dean carefully brushed hair out of Castiel's eyes, he wondered, once again, just what had happened.

oOo

Castiel fell asleep shortly after the incident in the kitchen, leaving Dean to face his father's door. Of the four rooms on the bottom level (if the mudroom counted as a room- it was actually just a hallway), the master bedroom was the thing that unnerved him the most. He hesitated in front of the white paint and cheap, brassy handle, with the terrible plaque that Sam and Dean had made him for father's day one year reading "DAD" hanging on it, just as crooked as the letters. The wood was old, but when Dean stepped forward and touched it, still was smooth and well oiled.

Love showed in strange ways.

He opened the door slowly, stepping inside with reluctance.

The room was larger than those upstairs, but almost as barren as Dean's. A pile of suits waited on the full bed to be taken and donated, and on the low chest of drawers was John's journal. A file cabinet stood in the corner, with pictures of Dean and Sam together when they were about 12 and 8, and on his bedside table a pair of reading glasses, a framed picture of him and Mary, and a plain brown lamp sat. The closet door was open, exposing the barren emptiness, and Dean sat down on the bed, running his hands over the soft wool of the suits. John had hated them, much preferring the t-shirts, jeans, and plaids that had already been divided up or donated.

Other than the glasses, pictures, and journal sitting fat on the chest of drawers, John Winchester may as well have never been there.

Dean brushed away the tears that were threatening to fall, and stood to close up the closet. The will was being read that night, and he had things to do before it was time to face the music.

oOo

The club ran more than a few businesses in town, but the main meetings were held in the back room of the bar. Dean showed up with Sam in tow at precisely 5:45, jackets on and pressed, after leaving Castiel with strict instructions not to leave the house or blow anything up. Sadly, one of the two was likely inevitable. Castiel had a propensity towards flames.

"Starting on time?" Benny drawled from his seat at the circular table. "What is this, the apocalypse?"

Dean smiled wryly, taking John's customary seat as Sam sat where Dean once had, taking the place of right hand. The other high ranked members began filing in, taking their seats. Bobby, Jake Talley, Tara (looking fifteen kinds of badass and bulkier than usual), Rufus, and Ellen all sat. Dean looked at Ellen, glad she'd come even though she wasn't club any longer. Dean was about ready to start when Deacon Kaylor and Victor Henricksen walked in as well.

"Behave, ladies and gentlemen," Benny drawled. "The law's arrived."

There was a quietly murmur of welcome, and the two drew up chairs to the table.

"I take it you're the witnesses?" Sam asked, sitting back in his chair.

"That we are, Mr. Winchester," Victor said. "Is the will here?"

Ellen pulled it out, opening it up.

Dean cleared his throat, nodding to Jake, who pulled out his phone and messed with buttons until it was recording.

"Let it be known," Dean said calmly, his voice not even slightly raised, "that in attendance this day at the reading of the will of John Winchester at the round table, sitting in counter clockwise order from the head chair, occupied by Dean Winchester, are Samuel Winchester, Robert Singer, Jacob Talley, Tara Hayward, Ellen Harvelle, Deacon Kaylor, Victor Henricksen, Rufus Turner, and Benjamin Lafitte. For the record, the head chair would like to note and recognize Ellen Harvelle, our sister and founding member, and Deacon Kaylor, our brother in mind though not in body. The head chair also recognizes Victor Henricksen as The Law of the land that we love, and we welcome him. Also for the record, please note that should Benjamin Lafitte put his feet up on my nicely cleaned table, I will be forced to make him wear neon orange for the rest of the week."

Benny let out a disapproving noise, and scooted in closer to reduce the temptation.

"Please proceed," Dean said, and Ellen pulled out the papers.

oOo

The will was straightforward. What few meager possessions John Winchester had were divided between his sons, with a few mentions here and there for his friends. Dean was given the house and Impala, along with the mechanic shop, while Sam received the bar on the condition that the club could continue to hold meetings there. Should that be broken, it would be given to Dean. Sam also received all but two of the guns, and a massive amount of money that had been sitting in a side account for years.

There were a few times when Ellen's voice broke, and they all had to stop to calm down and clear their throats. Eventually the good scotch was broken out, and by the time they all left, they were in better moods. Sam took off to parts unknown, while Dean climbed onto his own bike. Benny walked up, giving him a long look.

"You're keeping secrets," he said when Victor and Deacon had passed him, headed to the bulky black Escalade that Victor loved so much. "Should I be worried for our fame and fortune?"

"Nope," Dean said, sitting back. He watched as the others walked out, talking among themselves. "Do you think…" His voice trailed off.

"Think what?" Benny asked dryly. "That some of the old guys are going to give you shit for liking the variety of people you like?"

Dean flicked his eyes over.

"Yes," Benny said, lighting up. "Rufus'll be the worst. Bobby doesn't give a shit, long as he's not on the receiving end, Tara would be a hypocrite of a lesbian if she did, Jake's an ex-marine and might be a little leery about it, but Sam won't care. And unless I am massively mistaken, which I better not be, you had your dick in me this last weekend, so I'm gonna bet that I'm okay with it."

Dean snorted, looking down at the slick black paint of his bike. He ran a gentle hand over the metal of the tank, watching his glove slide over the slick surface. "I dunno, man, it's just…We're going to have to deal with so much shit from everyone else now that Dad's gone, I don't want to be another problem to face."

"You're not another problem," Benny said, his voice blunt. "You're our president. And you're going to do fine."

He clapped Dean on the shoulder, and headed for the messed up bike he called Purgatory. Dean sighed, slid on his sunglasses, and let his bike roar to life beneath him.

oOo

The house was still standing when he parked, no flames to be seen, and when he walked inside he was greeted with the scent of sweet apple pie. It was heavenly, rich in the air, just how he liked it. He inhaled deeply, a smile sliding onto his face. It had been 8 years since he'd smelled that particular recipe, and he wanted it and all it entailed now.

"Cas?" he called as he stripped off his jacket, hanging it up with his keys.

Castiel's head poked around the wall into the mudroom, a shy smile on his face. "I made you pie."

Dean felt the smile broaden on his face as he stepped up, onto the normal floor. The mudroom (really more mud hall) was slightly lower to keep the mud out. Castiel blushed when Dean hooked his fingers in his belt loops, pulling him in teasingly. The scotch had loosened him up, and the ride had calmed him down. Dad was dead, sure, and that was sad, but god _damn_ it was good to see Castiel.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Castiel murmured, looping his arms around Dean's shoulders and stepping into his space.

"My thoughts are worth a shit ton more than a penny," Dean purred, eyes fixed on Castiel's. "Specially since they're all 'bout you, you pie making minx."

Castiel grinned, the shyness melting away to the old Castiel that Dean knew 8 years ago. "Thought you could use some sweetening up," he said, smug as could be, and leaned in to kiss him. Dean kissed back with all the enthusiasm in the world, thrilled to have Castiel's mouth on his again. It had been far too long, and he was done waiting. The kisses got hungrier and filthier, the noises darker and more desperate.

"Remember what I said the first time you made that pie?" Dean purred, backing him up against the wall. Castiel groaned, panting softly as teeth found their way to his neck.

"Told you that I wasn't letting you have any," he gasped out, hands fumbling for purchase at Dean's back.

"Because Jenny Patel wouldn't let you get to second," Dean chuckled, hands roaming greedily over Castiel's skin. "And I said-"

"You'd let me get to second 'long as I let you have a piece," Castiel finished, gasping as a knee worked between his legs. " _Dean_ -"

He laughed, pulling back a bit to admire the marks on Castiel's neck. They'd bruise up nicely.

"I wanted you back so bad," he admitted, voice low and intent. "Kept thinking I'd walk in one day and you'd just be there at the table, full of stories and with some shitty hipster scarf on your neck and probably glasses." He moved his knee, making Castiel whine and his hand scramble. "Thought about how you were off having adventures, you and Jimmy, and wanted you back here in our little town so I knew you were safe, so we could have adventures together."

Castiel's breath was still ragged, but his eyes were on Dean's now.

"I'll tell you," he whispered, pulling him in for a kiss so desperate it left Dean's head spinning. "Swear I will, I swear, but not now. I took an oath when I left, that I'd wait until the time was right to tell you, Dean, please-"

"I don't care where you've been," Dean said fiercely, holding him tight. "I don't care what you've done, I swear to God if you never tell me I'd be fine. Just don't fuckin' leave me again, Cas, please."

And then it was all kisses and hungry eyes, and somehow, God knows how without them tripping and dying, they were up the stairs and careening into Dean's room, falling onto the bed and wrapping up in each other. Castiel curled into him, nosing at the soft skin of his neck, and they both calmed down slowly, until Dean's hands were running in lazy circles over Castiel's back, and Castiel was half asleep on top of him, a sated, pleased smile on his face.

"So, you gonna bring my pie up for me?" Dean teased, and Castiel actually laughed, closing his eyes and relaxing against him. Dean chuckled, his smile wide, and when Castiel fell asleep with a smile on his face, he whispered, "Thanks for coming home, Cas."


	3. Better to Ask Forgiveness

Benjamin Lafitte was not a stupid man. On the contrary, in fact. He was smart enough to be classified as a threat by most of the deputies in the city, and Victor regarded him as a person of interest. While the others of the club enjoyed their drinking and carousing at the bar, Benny Lafitte didn't touch alcohol. Cigarettes were one thing, taking the edge off the burn, but alcohol was a danger he didn't want to fall into again.

He knew something was up the minute Dean met him at the door the day after the will was read, looking better than he had in weeks and with a lazy smile on his face.

"Mornin'."

"You got laid," Benny said accusingly, eyeing him. "And I know you went straight home, because I didn't see your bike anywhere in town last night. You been keeping someone on the side?"

"Keeping someone on the side would imply that we were together," Dean said, smile fading. "But you may as well know. And, actually, it was just a good day. I didn't get laid." He stepped back, letting Benny in. He entered the house cautiously, well aware that he was trespassing into Dean's Holy of Holies, and he didn't use the term lightly. He'd never actually been inside the house before, Dean always going to his place. The funeral had been the first invitation contrary. John Winchester kept it as a fortress against the world, and refused the club entry. It was his family's home, not the clubs, and he made that very clear.

The kitchen was clean but old fashioned, the linoleum the strange brown and tan patterns that were so popular in the 70's. The kitchen sink was old, maybe from around the 50's, and the stove was actually green, while the refrigerator was new stainless steel. The only reason it was new was because Dean had, just last month, managed to somehow short out the old white one. John had not been pleased. The walls were painted yellow, the trim white, and the whole place had a scrubbed down look to it, the cabinets unnaturally clean. It looked like it had stepped right out of an old _Good Housekeeping_ magazine.

"Cas!" Dean called up the stairs, which were situated against the back wall. "I've got someone for you to meet!"

Benny raised an eyebrow at the name, but his eyebrows raised even more when a scruffy, dark haired man in a loose blue shirt and loose brown drawstring pants padded down the stairs.

"Novak," Benny realized, shocked. "Castiel Novak, the one Bobby talks about. Holy shit, Dean, I thought he was supposed to be dead."

Castiel looked over at Dean, obviously pouting a little. "You thought I was dead?"

"No, I didn't think you were dead. Everyone else did though," Dean said, leading him over. "Castiel, Benny Lafitte. He's our weapons specialist."

"Pleasure's all mine," Castiel said. He didn't move to shake his hand, just eyed him critically, like he wanted to take a hammer and start chipping away at his flaws. "Louisiana?"

"Yes," Benny said, slowly. Castiel was…odd. There was something off about him, something in the eyes that warned _if you test me, you will fail_. The man looked like he could slaughter people in his sleep and wake up without a hint of blood on him. Energy crackled around him, making Benny's breath catch in his throat. The man was a threat, but when he looked at Dean every hint of the danger fell away, replaced by some soft, delicate thing that seemed to unconsciously drift to his side. "Can't say I'm thrilled to make your acquaintance."

Castiel nodded approvingly. "Honesty. I like that."

Benny raised an eyebrow at Dean, who simply shrugged and lead them into the sitting room. It couldn't qualify as a living room- no TV, no magazines, nothing but some old family pictures on the walls, a hideously ugly couch leftover from the seventies, two comfortable armchairs, and a heavy wooden coffee table that looked like it had been well used. Castiel made his way to the farthest armchair, and Dean sat on the couch. After a moment's hesitation, Benny took the other armchair. Castiel had the look of a possessive, jealous man, and he didn't want to aggravate him by sitting next to Dean.

"So," he said slowly, looking at the two. "There's history here, I'm not blind. And I know that if I try talking about you with the guys, I nearly get my head taken off. So. Who the fuck are you?"

Dean bristled, but Castiel just looked amused.

"Dean and I grew up together. Michael Novak, John's original second, is my father. Dean's mother, Mary, raised me and my twin brother James, who goes by Jimmy. Dean and I were a thing. Jimmy's straight, so he wasn't involved."

"More's the pity," Dean said with a wicked grin, and Castiel flipped him off.

"We left. Things happened. I came back, Jimmy didn't. I'm not telling you what, I haven't even told Dean, and I don't even know you," Castiel said bluntly, his long fingers running over the arms of the chair.

Benny nodded, watching those fingers closely. "Fair enough. I just want to know if you're going to be fucking the boss here, so that I know if I need to go find someone new."

"Benny," Dean growled, but Castiel simply smiled.

"Who knows?" He said with a shrug. "Dean, entertain him. I'm going to go shower." He rose gracefully, and Benny watched him leave the room before turning to Dean.

His words froze on his tongue when he saw the look on Dean's face. He recognized it, having seen it on his own face enough times. Deep, desperate longing was there, along with history that ran like old scars, painful to the touch. Whoever Castiel Novak was- friend, fuck-buddy, love of Dean's life, he was too much a part of it for Benny to try and come between them. Dean and he had a no strings attached policy, but Castiel was trailing streamers and chains of history behind him.

"So," he said after a pause. "I'll get on finding someone else."

Dean's eyes shot to him, clearly relieved, and Benny tried to not feel gutted at the look.

oOo

His father was dead, and Samuel Winchester wasn't quite sure what to do about that.

His brother was pretending everything was fine. Hell, he had his best friend back! He had the club! He had his bike and the open air!

But Samuel Winchester was many things, and blind was not one of them. He could see the way that Dean was falling apart when no one was looking, knew how his brother was slowly tearing himself up on the inside. John Winchester had been blown away like the faintest speck of dust into the ground, and there his cold, hard body would decay until he was part of it. _Ash to ash, dust to dust_. And Sam still didn't know what to do. Dean had always joked about it, Sam needing to talk things through, but the fact of the matter was that he had no clue how to go about doing it. He didn't know where to turn. Dean was wrapped up in Castiel, who was a mystery wrapped inside a neat little cocoon of dangerously broken – again, Sam was not blind –, and those of the club would brush him off if he tried. Bobby might listen, but his solution was a bottle of Jack and maybe a sympathetic hooker. Sam didn't feel up to Bobby's kind of fixing.

Maybe Ruby? He dismissed the thought as soon as it came. Ruby was all hard edges and violence disguised as Daddy's spoiled little bratling. The thought of trying to go to her for help was laughable. She'd cut him up and toss him naked on the street.

The diner caught his eye, and after a moment's thought, he pulled in and parked next to a minivan and some sporty little Prius. Some part of him vindictively wanted to key the Prius on sheer principle, but he squashed it down and made his way to the door. His jacket felt heavy on his back, the tall collar around his neck almost restrictive, and the Winchester' clubs red wings, crossed guns below them, Latin lettering on the banner underneath, CALIFORNIA at the bottom, with WINCHESTER firmly placed along the top of his back made him feel out of place. His boots clomped on the floor, huge body navigating through the crowds. A few kids were staring, but he just smiled, the epitome of innocence, and they relaxed, looking away.

_Nothing to see here_ , he broadcasted, settling into a booth. No one and nothing odd.

It was a gift he had, a weird talent that had saved his skin more than once. Sam was a chameleon, at ease in even the worst situations.

He was just starting to wonder if he could take a nap at the oddly comfortable booth when a dry voice said, "You're starting to drool, Mister."

He scrambled for a napkin, bright red as he looked up at the waitress. She didn't dress like the standard Americana diner waitress, no weird yellow dress. Just black capris, and a white shirt with a bright red apron. She was looking at him expectantly, too.

"Uhhhh. Um. Special?"

"I'm not going to tease, but know that it's a close thing," she informed him, a wicked grin on her face. "And what're you drinking?"

"Dr. Pepper. I've never seen you before," he blurted out, swallowing hard when he realized what he'd said. She didn't seem upset though, just wrote down the order.

"I'm new in town," she said simply. "Needed a change of pace. I'll have that right out to you."

And with that, she whisked away.

When she came back, Sam smiled up at her. "Sorry about the drool. I'm, uh. I'm a little worn out these days."

She smiled, putting the food down. The burger looked absolutely mouth watering, and the fries were just crispy enough to be perfect. "Hey, I can't judge. I've been known to fall asleep against the wall."

Sam opened his mouth to reply just as a loud voice called, "Hey, tits! Coffee!" Sam's head turned to find a pair of rough looking truckers laughing together, the kind who were unshaved, unwashed, and unmannered. His fist clenched. The woman straightened up, lips pressing into a thin line for a second.

"Can I break his hand?" Sam asked politely. "Or his nose? I'd be very, very happy to."

She gave him a long, long look before saying, "I can pick my own fights, mister motorcycle man. But I'll keep that in mind, if they try anything."

She walked away again, leaving him to pick at his fries and watch her with close, narrowed eyes.

oOo

The first time John used physical violence in front of them, it was in this diner. He remembered the waitress who'd screamed, the man threatening her with a knife, and then it was just all a blur as Dean dragged him under the table and John rocketed over, the heavy rings he wore flashing in the light. They'd gone out for dinner, and had ended up saving the woman's life. Her name was Sharlene, and she'd told the man propositioning her no. John beat him unconscious, then calmly called 911 while cleaning the blood off his rings. Sharlene was bleeding sluggishly from her wounds, and Dean scrambled out from under the table to grab a washcloth and hold it tight to the wound. Everyone else was screaming, but as Sam had huddled under the table, he watched as his brother and father calmly took in the carnage and mayhem and simply handled it.

After that, 9 year old Sam had begged and pleaded to learn how to fight. He'd seen up close and personal how ugly it could get, but he also remembered the way Sharlene had looked, the sick relief on her face as she leaned into Dean's shoulder and looked down at her would be killer.

Sam knew his place. His place was to protect first, like Dean and his father. After that came everything else.

oOo

The waitress wasn't touched or annoyed any more after that, but that might have had something to do with the way that Sam was watching them as he meticulously ate his way through the burger, fries, drink, and then eventually steak that she brought him. Now, instead of broadcasting _nothing to see_ , it was loud and clear _I will hurt you if you dare_. Sam was halfway through his steak before the duo uneasily rose and paid their bill, leaving a hefty tip on the table after looking nervously at Sam.

Once the bell on the door stopped ringing and they left, Sam relaxed, settling in to really get started on his steak.

It came as something of a surprise when the waitress slid in across from him.

"Jess."

He blinked. "Sam."

"Thank you," Jess said, leaning back. "And I mean that seriously, not just a "oh thanks for scaring them off" kind of thing. They were creeping me out."

"I bet I can still go find them and rearrange their faces if you want," Sam offered, not entirely joking. Jess wasn't wrong, the two were slightly off. Not the same kind of off as harden criminals and pedophiles, but there was something about them that could afford to be watched while they were around.

Jess just snorted and stole a fry off of his plate. "How do you feel about vodka?"

"I feel like vodka is the kind of conversation starter that leads to me being in bed with someone, which is part of the reason I don't drink vodka until I'm sure how the other party wants things to play out," Sam said warily. Drunk Dean was handsy, sure, but typically loveable and snuggly. Drunk Sam, on the other hand, was the kind of animal that didn't bear thinking about. The words "drink responsibly" should probably be tattooed on his arm as a reminder of that.

"Hmm. Pity." Jess gave him a long look. "So. What brought you in here?"

"Looking for answers in all the strange places," Sam replied, batting at her hand when she grabbed another fry.

"Nice. Have you found any yet?" She asked, and Sam wondered what, exactly, was happening between them right at that moment.

"Not exactly. It's just…" he hesitated, and then plowed on. "My dad just died. And honestly, I don't really know what to do about it."

Jess raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, munching on another fry. "So you decided to seek answers in a diner that, while serving delicious food, is hardly the epicenter of all spiritual and emotional knowledge?"

"More or less. I was also a little bit hungry."

"Huh." She considered him for a minute. "You are a strange, strange man. I think I like you." She took another one of his fries, and he gave up trying to stop her. "So, what do you mean, you don't know what to do about it? I was under the impression that once a person's gone, there's nothing you _can_ do, except maybe make a deal with a demon or something to bring them back. Or a death god, that's what they did on _Buffy_."

Sam grinned. "Someone else in this godforsaken town who watches Buffy, will wonders never cease." His smile faded a little. "But really, I just…I don't know what to do with myself. My whole life has revolved around my dad, and the club, and I just. I'm on my own now. Dean, my brother, he's around but his best friend just came back with the kind of baggage that can't just be unpacked, and Dean would die before deciding to give up on him. And I just inherited a bar, and what the hell am I going to do with that? I don't know shit about running a company, even a small one. I mean, I've heard my dad talking about it, and I've gone over the books a few times because I'm good at math and stuff, but I don't know about the rest of it. Hell, I never even wanted it."

Jess nodded thoughtfully. "So, what do you want?"

The question startled him, and he sat back, staring at her. "You know," he said after a moment, "I don't know if anyone's ever asked me that."

Jess sighed, reaching over to pat his limp hand. "Well, Sam, you better start thinking about that real fast, because if there's one thing I've learned in 23 years of life, it's that doing something you hate never ends well. In fact, it tends to end monumentally badly." She stood up, long legs tangling a little in the booth before she steadied herself. "I'll see you around, Sam."

oOo

That night, when he tumbled into Ruby's bed, it was to the thought of soft blonde hair, and a soft smiling mouth with wickedly sharp eyes boring into him. 


	4. Dust

When Sam rolled up to the shop for his shift, everyone could see he was in an absolutely foul mood. The Ducati was very nearly sent careening to the ground as he dismounted, a scowl firmly fixed on his face. Bobby, who'd been manning the informal front desk that sat outside so more people could sit in the waiting room, watched with narrowed eyes. While it wasn't hot out just yet, the day was shaping up to be a scorcher.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Bobby asked, a bushy eyebrow raising. Sam just growled at him and stalked to the back of the shop to get his jumpsuit. Dean showed up 10 minutes later, a man with a helmet on sitting behind him. Bobby rocketed to his feet as the man dismounted and pulled the helmet off, revealing dark hair and a familiar face.

"Novak!"

The man smiled, looking a little nervous as everyone looked up. Tara whistled, Rufus dropped a wrench, Benny was clearly unsurprised, and Garth let out a shriek of excitement. He rushed out and the man actually smiled as Garth hugged him tight, dancing a little.

"Which one are you?" Bobby asked as he walked over. "Never could tell the two of you apart."

"Castiel," he said, wheezing a little from the force of Garth's hug. "Garth, please, my ribs-"

"Oh!" Garth hastily let go. "Are you hurt? Did I hurt you? I didn't want to hurt you, promise, it's just that we kind of thought you were kinda dead and I might've cried a little about that because I missed you a lot-"

"We get the picture, Garth," Dean interrupted, carefully reeling Castiel into his side. The man seemed a little overwhelmed by it all. "We're headed over to talk to Michael. Just thought we should let you all know he's alive and kicking. Jimmy is too, but he isn't here."

"Long as you're both still fine," Bobby said, a real smile on his face. "God damn boy, we've missed you."

Tara watched them with a light smile on her face before going back to digging in the guts of a very sad looking Nissan. Sam hadn't even looked up from where he was working, and Bobby narrowed his eyes. The boy was acting odd, and while it made sense that he already knew about the prodigal son's return, there was definitely something wrong. As Castiel talked to some of the others, he caught Dean's eye and nodded towards Sam. Dean's eyes tracked over his brother, and he murmured something in Castiel's ear before backing away.

Sam and Dean exchanged a few quiet, tense words before Dean shook his head and went back to Castiel. The two begged off more questions and got back on Dean's bike, Castiel easily settling into the seat as it roared to life. Bobby waved them off, and kept a smile on his face until they were headed out of the gates. Then it dropped like a stone, and the false cheer everyone had been keeping up dissipated like lightning.

"D'ya think Dean's told him how bad it is?" Garth said in hushed tones.

"Doubt it," Benny said, his voice somber, and everybody returned to work a good deal quieter than before.

 

oOo

Bad didn't begin to cover it.

"He's not a young man," the nurse said as he tucked the blankets around Michael Novak's thin, shivering body. "We've done what we can, but frankly he's sick and doesn't seem to have the will to recover. He was getting a little better maybe a few weeks ago, but then…" He swallowed hard, smoothing the blankets. "Then Mr. Winchester passed away, and it seems like he's just fading away."

The soft beep of the heart monitor was the only other sound in the room as Castiel looked down at the thin, frail body of his father. The ventilator kept him breathing as he slept, but it was clearly a fight. Dean stayed back as Castiel reached out a shaking hand to touch his father's shoulder, and looked away when he sank to his knees, clutching the thin, bony hand. He didn't cry, but made soft, heaving noises of pure pain, the kind of anguish too deep for tears.

The nurse stayed outside the door until Castiel left, his face stone.

"When does he normally wake up?" was his first question.

"If you can be here at about 2 o'clock tomorrow, he should be awake," the nurse said, looking concerned. "And this may be hard to hear, you have to understand, the drugs we have him on have caused him to hallucinate before. He may not realize that you're real. And if he gets agitated we'll have to ask you to leave, for his own safety. Even as thin as he is now, he's strong and more than capable of hurting someone."

Castiel nodded, his face set. "I'll be here."

Dean nodded his thanks to the nurse, and put his hand at the small of Castiel's back to lead him out of the hospital. The man was walking blindly, stumbling a little, and when they got outside he turned and buried his face in Dean's shirt, letting himself be enfolded as finally, a few tears started to leak out. Dean just held him, letting him get it out of his system before leading him back to the bike.

"I'll take you home," he said quietly.

 

oOo

The Novak house was a standard suburban house. At the moment, it looked far more run down than when Dean had last seen it, paint peeling and grass unmowed. Castiel looked up at it like it was the Holy Grail, though, and when he tried his key in the lock with a shaking hand, it turned easily.

The house was quiet, and a layer of dust covered everything. Castiel ran a finger over the table just inside the door, looking around. Dean followed close behind him, his boots heavy on the floor. The house was of the ranch styled ones, just big enough for two boys and a father. The main sitting room in the front was as normal as could be, TV and couches taking up the space. The kitchen and dining area was much the same, yellowing newspapers sitting on the round table. Dean glanced at the most recent one, grimacing at the headline. _Local girls still missing, five now presumed dead_. Castiel ignored the small hall to his father's den and bedroom, and instead walked down the stairs and into the basement. Dean followed after a moment's hesitation, unease prickling over him when Castiel, Castiel who loved the light and had cried when he and Jimmy locked him in dark rooms, didn't even try flicking on the lights. That alone told him something ugly had happened during the years he'd been gone.

The basement was standard. Full bath, laundry room, an open area with game consoles, TV, and built in bookshelves. The place looked completely untouched, a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring still sitting on the floor where Dean had left it the last time he was there. He unconsciously reached out for Castiel, taking his hand, and was relieved when he squeezed back. He felt like he was walking through the realm of ghosts, and when Castiel led him to the door marked "CASTIELS' ROOM" with an old drawing Jimmy had made when he was maybe seven, he realized they were both shaking.

The door pushed open with a soft, familiar creak, and they stepped inside.

Only then did Castiel turn on the lights.

It was just as it had been before. The bed against the wall, with its simple green-grey spread, a broken boom box on the floor, shelf after shelf of books, a battered dressed pulled open and rucked through, his closet closed, posters on the walls of cats saying ridiculous things in bubbles that they'd made one afternoon and taped up, they were all still there. Castiel turned, curling into Dean's arms to bury his face, and Dean let him, cradling his head with his hand.

"This was never the plan," Castiel whispered when they finally parted. "Never. We were only going to be gone a month, maybe less."

"Yeah?" Dean ran a hand through Castiel's hair, trying to soothe him. It seemed to work.

"Yeah." Castiel reached out, picking up a tiny waving cat figurine. "We…we found my mom."

Dean's eyes widened. "Holy shit. That's why you left?"

Castiel nodded, setting the figurine down and turning back to him. "Yeah. Dean, you have to understand, after so long…"

"I get it, Cas, I do," Dean said gently. "Holy shit. You really found her?"

Castiel stepped away from him, walking around and touching small trinkets from his childhood. The little x-wing that Michael had made from things around the house (Popsicle sticks, pens taped together, pen caps making the shape real) was picked up lovingly. "Do you remember when he made these? Jimmy wanted them for his birthday, he loved them so much."

"I still have mine," Dean admitted. It was one of the few things that had survived the pain filled purge of his childhood toys after a particularly ugly fight with Sam over his refusal to believe Cas and Jimmy were either dead or never coming back. His photo album and the third of the soft brown triplet bears his mother had given them for Christmas were also among them. "I always wanted to make a TIE fighter and turn it into a mobile."

Castiel smiled softly at that, cradling the little toy. "I thought about that too." He set the little thing down, looking around the room. "I was never supposed to be gone so long… only a little while, just to get answers."

"Cas," Dean said gently. "I have to ask- is Jimmy okay? Because if he's not, you know I'll get the club and we'll fight like hell to get him safe. You're family, and family's the most important thing in the world to us, you know that."

Castiel sat on the bed, causing a small cloud of dust to mushroom up, dancing in the faint light from the windows. "He's safe," he said after a minute of looking at his hands, dappled with sunlight from the small window. "He won't stay that way for long, but for now, he's safe."

Dean went and joined him on the bed. "Cas…"

"He's safe," Castiel insisted, taking Dean's hand. "I know you want to go riding out, guns blazing to the rescue, but there's no need. I know that he's your brother too, but please. Trust me on this. Don't go looking for a fight, because you'll find one, and you'll be miles away from anything approaching their league."

Dean nodded reluctantly, wondering, not for the first time, what on Earth Castiel had managed to get involved in. "Well," he said firmly. "No point just sitting here in all this dirt and grime."

Castiel's eyebrows rose, and he opened his mouth in distressed protest. "Oh no. _Dean_ , come on!"

"No buts," Dean said firmly, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. It was pathetically easy, and he decided right then that they'd be stuffing more food in him. This strange, skinny Castiel needed plumping back up. There needed to be meat on those bones. "Come on. I'll start upstairs, you work on _this_. Strip your sheets and grab some of those clothes, I'll get a load started. And open the windows and doors so we don't choke on the dust."

With that, he burst out of the room, pulling Castiel with him.

 

oOo

Cleaning actually became a little fun after a while. Castiel seemed to be basking in the normalcy of it, and took to dusting like it was his personal nemesis to be vanquished. Dean did the laundry and vacuumed as he watched Castiel dash around with a dust cloth, gleefully cleaning off tables and chairs, shaking out rugs and uncovering the shine on family photos. By the time the sun had set, the two were mostly done with a fairly light cleaning of the house. Castiel decided to vacuum and dust Jimmy's room, and Dean entered Michael's study.

It was the nicest room in the house by far, full of rich oak bookshelves. The desk that Dean remembered playing under as a child was heavy mahogany, handmade by Michael himself. Files covered the top of it, and when he turned on the green and gold lamp, he was shocked to see what they were.

Surveillance photos of Castiel and Jimmy met his eyes, the two dressed as priests and walking down the street of what might have been Detroit. Jimmy's eyes were lowered, meek and subservient, but Castiel's head was up, eyes darkly looking ahead, full of purpose. Others lay beneath them- Jimmy and Cas always dressed as priests. Some were taken from far away, others close up, and then-

A printed one, a picture screenshot from a computer. He didn't recognize the layout of the page, but the words "humans of new york" were printed in Michael's handwriting across the top. Castiel and Jimmy looked out at him, perfectly identical except for the bruise on Jimmy's lip. Side by side, they made an eerie pair. Dean looked closer, and saw a caption.

"So, not Catholic, but you wear the garb."

"We serve the mother, not just the father."

There was a red speck on the white of Castiel's collar, and at a closer look, Dean realized their crucifixes were sharpened into points. "Oh, Cas," he whispered. "What did you get yourself into?"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs had him hurrying to cover the photos, taking the 'humans of new york' one and stuffing it in his jacket before hurriedly leaving and closing the door.

"Ready to go?" he asked, smiling as Castiel carried the vacuum up. The man nodded, wheeling it away into the closet.

"I feel better," he confessed as they left. "I mean, I don't feel great, but I feel better."

"Good," Dean said, climbing onto the bike. "Good."


	5. Matches to a Flame

Dean was avoiding the situation and knew it.

He didn't want to think about the unoccupied room in the house. He didn't want to go through and take his father's clothes away. He didn't want anything to disrupt the fragile peace the house contained.

And now, staring down at Michael as he wept, clutching Castiel's shaking hand, he felt a deep stab of pain. He quietly made his excuses to Castiel, who didn't even seem to hear him, and stepped back into the hall. He leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to get a grip on himself. It was hard to think about his father, harder still to think of Castiel with his dying one and his own deep in the ground, slowly decaying. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye.

The familiar clump of boots down a hallway made him look up, and he smiled wanly when he saw Sam. He looked out of place in the hospital, carefully dodging nurses and moving with almost exaggerated caution. Sam always moved like that, though. Instead of using his height and weight to intimidate, he always seemed small, curling in on himself to be less of a threat. If it wasn't so funny, it would be sad.

"Cas okay?" he asked when he finally reached Dean, looking a little harried.

"He's in there with Michael," Dean nodded. "I didn't think you were going to make it, man. Those nurses you had to dodge…" He clucked his tongue, a grin on his face.

"Fuck you," Sam said without any heat, and peered in through the window. "Looks like they're talking, at least."

Dean nodded, fingers twitching. He wanted to go out for a nice, long smoke, but knew that Castiel would panic if he wasn't there after he was done.

"You look like you're thinking deep thoughts," Sam said after another look in at the two. "Want to share with the class?"

Dean snorted, but after a bit of Sam's patient, 'I will wear you down with my puppy eyes' stare, said reluctantly, "I was just thinking about how we didn't get to say goodbye, you know? I mean, we know the guy who did it is going away, and if I want I could make his life hell, but I- The last think I said to him was that- that I was sick of his shit and wanted my freedom. And now he's dead, and even though I know it's not my fault, I just…I wanted to say goodbye, and I couldn't."

Sam looked like he was about to cry. "Dean…"

"Don't, Sammy," he said, tired. "I don't want you sympathy, I can't take it. Point is, I don't envy Cas, but I wish…I wish we'd had a little more time."

He would never forget the mangled, battered body that they had to identify. The thought that the sad, bloody mound on the coroners table had once been a living, breathing person who had attended Sam's soccer games and taught him how to make more sophisticated weapons than sharpened popsicle sticks, and how to fix things that seemed beyond fixing, had almost been more than he could bear. He missed his father, he realized with a harsh, deep cut of misery. He wanted his dad back, he wanted them arguing and laughing and passive aggressively grouching about whether pancakes or waffles were better. (It was waffles according to John.) He even missed John passed out on the couch, and how he'd just squeeze Dean's shoulder to show his approval.

He didn't realize he was crying until Sam had pulled him in, one huge hand cradling the back of his head as he clutched Sam's shirt, sobbing into his shoulder. It was finally all too much, too fast.

When he was all cried out, he slumped down, and Sam helped them both to the floor. They must have looked strange- two grown men in black jeans and heavy black leather jackets, Sam's left sleeve tattoo peeking out, and Dean's sunburst appearing out of his shirt. Dean curled into Sam's side, well aware that he looked like an absolute mess. He buried his face in Sam's shoulder, letting him rub over his back soothingly. It was strange, being the cared for person, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. He'd already taken out his rage on a poor, unsuspecting Chevelle in Bobby's junkyard, now, finally, he was grieving.

Castiel's light steps left the room, and Dean felt some of his tension evaporate when Castiel gently touched the top of his head.

"He wants to talk to you," he said quietly. Dean lifted his head, wiping at his eyes. Castiel helped him up, pointedly not saying anything about Dean's face before he walked in.

oOo

Michael was wide awake, and more alert than he had been in some time. Castiel had clearly invigorated him.

"Hi, uncle," Dean said, sitting in the chair beside the bed, his mouth falling into the familiar term. Michael was practically his family anyway. "You're looking better."

Michael eyed him. "I wish I could say the same for you." His eyes softened. "I heard about your father. I'll miss that tough old bastard. Wish I could have gone, but…" he gestured around helplessly, and Dean nodded.

"I'll miss him too," he said quietly, lowering his eyes. Michael reached out and gently took Dean's hand with his own. Dean clutched back, miserable with how fragile it felt.

"Thank you for bringing him back to me," he said softly. "I missed my boys. Having even the one back is a dream come true."

Dean clasped his hands together. "I saw the pictures on your desk," he said quietly. "How did you find them?"

Michael's eyes flashed with pain. "I didn't. I got snippets from someone else. I found the one of them that those bloggers did, but the rest… I got photos maybe once every six months. Manila envelope, addressed from empty lots all over the country."

"Shit," Dean breathed, his eyes going wide. "What the hell, uncle? Why didn't you bring this to the family? We could have at least tried to track down whoever was sending them. I would have gone to the ends of the earth for them, you know that."

Michael shook his head. "No, Dean. You don't understand. I told John. You remember that trip up to Sturgis he took with Tara?"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly. The Winchester club rarely went to Sturgis- John had Strong Thoughts about Sturgis for some reason- so when he went with Tara two years previous there had been lots of raised eyebrows and quiet speculation. "They said they were going to work out a deal with Garrison on neutral grounds."

"They went to Detroit to look for my boys," Michael said bluntly, eyes flicking to the window where Castiel likely stood. "I managed to pin down a location of one of the pictures. All they found were stories of twin priests who walked through the gang territories without fear and carried strange knives. I don't know what happened to my boys, Dean, but you damn well better take care of the one that's here. I don't want him to be taken away from me again."

"Yes sir," Dean said quietly, his head spinning a little from the new information. "I'll take good care of him."

"Good," Michael huffed, settling back into his pillows. "About fucking time you two love birds got together anyway."

Dean spluttered, blushing bright red as Michael grinned wickedly at him.

oOo

He was still red when Castiel straddled the bike behind him.

"Are you all right?" Castiel asked, arms snaking around his waist. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, and covered it by dragging his gloves on. "You seemed a little flustered when you left."

"I was," Dean grumbled, letting the bike rumble to life. "Your father is an interfering, matchmaking fiend."

Castiel chuckled, leaning into Dean's back. Dean tried not to feel too pleased by that.

oOo

Jess was as the diner when Sam came in, windswept and a little wet from the light rain that had showed up as he was leaving the hospital. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. "You look like you could use some warm food."

"God, yes," he said fervently, folding his lanky body into the tiny amount of space between the bar and the stationary stools. "Soup would be best. I would kill for some chicken noodle soup."

"Well, you don't have to," Jess said, amused. Sam grinned as she sauntered into the back and came back with two steaming bowls and a package of saltines. The diner was mostly deserted, just a lone trucker chatting with Doris, who looked bored out of her mind.

"You joining me?" Sam asked, irrationally thrilled.

"Hell yeah. I've been on my feet for six hours now." Jess plopped down next to him, and Sam was pleasantly surprised at how close they were in height. "And I've been smelling this soup for five of it. I'm hungry."

Sam laughed, and the two settled in.

Talking came easy, and before Sam realized, he was telling her everything about growing up with the wild and crazy motorcycle club. She, in return, told him about her heart surgeon father and "trophy wife" of a mother who was actually part of MENSA.

Eventually, though, everyone was gearing up to leave. Sam ended up doing the dishes as Jess swept up, his sleeve tattoos on full display. The right was mostly tribal, wild and dark black and red, morphing into rings of Latin that read out an old exorcism, one that matched with the one Dean had done in tiny letters down his spine. The left was a tangle of birds, thorny branches and animal eyes, with a ring of text at his wrist reading "This is the land of gods and monsters".

He let himself get lost in the rhythm of dish washing, his hands mechanical. He shouldn't have wanted to come back and speak with her- not after he'd been in bed with Ruby and been thinking of Jess's soft blonde hair instead of Ruby's darker hair. Jess had nearly been the name on his lips, and that was dangerous territory. No one wanted to face down Ruby Masters after she'd been scorned. He'd been a bad mood the day before about it, and hadn't even realized it until Bobby had snapped at him.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"They're worth a dollar at least," he said without thinking.

"Hmm. Pennies I have, dollars I don't, more's the pity," Jess said, leaning against the sink as he pulled out the stopper, watching the dish soap swirl way down the drain. Sam just shook his head with a smile, drying off his arms with a paper towel.

"Would you do me a favor?" Jess asked abruptly, going a little more serious. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Depends, what is it?"

"Take me home?" She seemed nervous. "I don't have my car today, I walked. I've got a flat, and my spare just replaced the other tire that popped."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Sam said immediately. "I'm more than happy too. We'll just have to get the other helmet out of the saddlebags, but it shouldn't be an issue."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

oOo

Jess ended up living at a little one room studio in the not-so-great part of town, and when Sam saw the apartment building she lived in, he was legitimately concerned.

"Is it actually up to code?" he asked worriedly. "Because if it's not I can, like, find you another place to crash while someone leans on the landlord to make them fix it."

Jess just laughed, climbing off his bike and putting the helmet back into the saddle bags. "I'm okay, really," she said, looking up at the building. It was just two floors, but it looked dangerously decrepit. "I'm…I'm paying for this myself. It's amazing, being on my own for the first time. I've always wanted to be free of my parents, and now I am."

"I can understand that, but… please tell me if you get scary green mold in the shower," Sam said, eyebrows raising. "I promise I will be over there to kill it in minutes."

She laughed, and he smiled stupidly at the way her eyes crinkled up at the edges. Thoughts of Ruby were flying away at lightning speed when she looked at him like that.

"Want me to walk you up?"

The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying, and her smile broadened. "Such the gentleman, Mr. Winchester." She offered her arm, and he got off the bike, taking it with a flourish that made her laugh. Together they walked up the stairs, and when Sam got to the door, he patiently waited for her to open it.

"Well," he said as it swung open, revealing a tiny one room with kitchenette, bed, and not much else, "here we are."

"Here we are," she agreed. "I really want to kiss you."

His mind might have melted.

"You do?"

"I do," she said, smiling, but there was clear nervousness in her eyes. He groaned, reaching out to touch her hair.

"For the record," he said reluctantly, "I really want to kiss you too. And possibly make good use of that bed. But now is not the night for that."

Jess's shoulders slumped.

"I have a girlfriend," Sam said reluctantly, dropping his hand. "And it's not fair to either of you if I'm thinking of you when I'm in bed with her."

Jess, rather than seeming horrified at this revelation, looked smug. "You were thinking of me while in bed with another woman?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Damn, that's hot. Okay. Tell you what. Whenever, if ever, you decide to break up with this girlfriend of yours, let me know," she said, her smile easy. "I'll happily take her place. And you'll get the dubious pleasure of having some very good rebound sex. I hear I'm quiet talented."

"Jesus, Jess," he whined, blushing a little in the dark. "Fine. I'm holding you to that, all right?"

"Deal," she said smugly, flicking his nose. "Good night, Mr. Winchester. I'm sure I'll see you soon."

And with that, she stepped neatly into her apartment and shut the door. There was the distinct sound of a deadbolt.

" _Fuck_ ," Sam announced to the empty air, and headed back to the bike.


	6. Weapons

Aza Z.E.L Masters was wealthy because he sold weapons.

Aza Zachariah Erik Leon Masters was far from old blood. His family was from Modesto, and they were originally farmers on the edge of town. Aza took his time, waited, and then pounced when the local gangs moved in. Clever, dangerous, and cunning, he began selling them things they wanted. Guns, mostly. Big, ugly, and full of firepower.

Within six months of illegal trade at the tender age of 18, he had enough to pay off his parents farm. He didn't. He left, and got into the business with a fake ID and an award winning smile. His parents lost the farm, and died young. From all accounts, he didn't attend the funeral. He couldn't have, as he was in Beijing at the time.

By the time that he settled in Prosperity, Aza Masters was rich and comfortable enough to start a family. He married a woman named Lilith, who had their only child, Ruby. They kept to themselves, stayed away from the Winchester club, who eyed them with deep suspicion, and so when Lilith left it didn't cause much of a fuss. She was gone for four years, showing back up on Ruby's 16th birthday. The girl was a cheerleader at that point, dangerously popular, but when Lilith came back, things changed.

oOo

Ruby Masters' apartment was classified as an apartment in the same way the Versailles was classified as a nice country home. When your father was the local wealth, you could afford nice things.

Sam was buzzed into the apartment, and stepped into the marbled floor. The downtown of Prosperity was decent sized, and Ruby's apartment was in the richest district. A staircase spiraled up to the next floor, a sitting room on his left and a full kitchen full of stainless steel appliances to his right. Before him…the coat closet.

Ruby came down the stairs, distractedly talking on her phone as Sam looked around. Weapons decorated the walls, and he knew she could use everything from the small shuriken to the giant battle axe. That was the change that Lilith had brought. No more was her child the spoiled Daddy's girl that everyone thought she was, oh no. This girl was all danger, even if she did drive a very nice and paid off Mustang. Sam watched her, taking in the fluid motions of her arms, judging just how fast she'd be able to get to her weapons when he broke the news about the break up. He was still calculating his risks of impaling when Ruby snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Hey."

"Hi," he said, startled. "Um."

"I think we should break up."

Well. That was unexpected.

"What?"

She shrugged fluidly. "I'm getting bored. You're getting bored. You've got this whole grieving process thing going on, too, which really isn't doing anything for me. And the sex is great but you're one of those people who need _feeling_ and whatever."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Well. Okay then. Can't say I saw this coming, but hey, works for me. You still want to grab lunch or you got other plans?"

"I've got plans," she said with a shrug. "Lilith wants to go to the range."

Sam nodded, wincing in sympathy. Lilith was a terrifying shot, as she had demonstrated many times for them, and even Aza had a hard time besting her. For Ruby, it was even less fun going, because Lilith ruthlessly drilled her until she was shooting through almost the same hole every time. "Have fun with that."

"Yipee," she said dryly, grabbing her purse off the table. "Is the fantastically annoying Dean Winchester still bitching about me?"

"Only when he thinks I'm not listening," Sam said dryly. "Guess I can get him to shut up now." He leaned over and kissed her chastely. "See you, Ruby."

"Bye, bitch." She smacked his ass as he headed out the door, making him jump and glower at her. Ruby just grinned, and when he was riding away he wondered why he felt the niggling squirm of unease in the back of his mind.

oOo

By 7 o'clock that night, Sam had other things to worry about than his sudden break up.

"We are not an outlaw outfit, Dean, we never really have been," Bobby said with the kind of patient tone that suggested if someone argued with him they were getting punched. "Technically, yes, we are considered outlaw by the AMA, but no one gives a flying fuck what they think about us. But we don't run drugs, we don't run guns. We run a goddamn mechanic shop and bar. Occasionally we provide muscle to back up the people who need it, sometimes we have some under the table dealings with Victor, but we are not outlaw."

Dean looked like he had a serious, throbbing headache, and Sam subtly moved his knee over to touch Dean's. He could tell that Benny had done the same, because he relaxed a little, face clearing. Dean was a people person, and incredibly tactile. Just having the touch of his friend and brother soothed him and helped him balance in ways that talking it out never could.

"We may not be outlaw, but Garrison wants to move into town according to this nice little letter they've sent us," Dean said, a little more stable and pointing at the paper laid out in front of him. "They're not saying it in so many words, but it's there. We knew about this for months already, they've been planning a takeover. Dad was hearing rumblings. We have the strength and old connections enough to make them at least hesitate, but Prosperity is a nice little gem and they want it. We need to put up a stand, and there's not many of us to face down Garrison."

"What about the little ones?" Rufus asked, and Sam made a noise of annoyance. "Shut up, Sam, you know what I mean."

Dean considered. "The prospects? You want to bring them in this early?"

Tara spoke up for the first time. "Total honesty, here, I don't know if Ava can hack it."

Benny snorted, cleaning his fingernail with his pocket knife. "Ava would eat the rest of them for lunch and come back for seconds. She's tiny but deadly, and she's got a grudge against Garrison the size of the Grand fuckin' Canyon."

Everyone sobered up at the thought. Ava Wilson had been engaged to a nice man, who'd fallen in with Garrison and, in true Garrison fashion, expected her to conform to normal outlaw life. She had no intention of being a mere wife, tagging along with them. So she'd left them, showed up at the shop and planted herself in front of Bobby, demanding to know what to do to get in.

"We lost Bill to violence," Dean said abruptly, and everyone went quiet. "We've all heard the stories about what Garrison does to the towns it takes. They take us, they'll kill us if we don't cooperate, they'll set up show and bring Hell right to our front door. Maybe we haven't been outlaw before, maybe we never wanted to be, but we need to be now. I won't have us killed or forced into Garrison's patch just to survive. You all deserve to keep the family we have."

The table fell silent, and Dean traced random patterns over the table. He looked over their faces, reading the worry and fear there. John had kept Garrison away with a careful combination of subtle blackmail, threats disguised as compliments, and a few quiet words with Victor. Dean had learned how to work with Garrison, and had accompanied him to a few of the meetings, but he was done with the fear that they brought with them.

"Call in the rest," he said, nodding to Bobby, who scowled but obeyed, stomping over to the door to let in the rest of the club, and the prospects.

They all traipsed in, looking apprehensive, and Dean sighed, his eyes trailing over them. Most were the same age as Sam, though there were a few younger and older. They were small still, new to it all, and he hated to bring them into this. Ava was small but bold, determined and unbendable. Garth was young and all innocent smiles, sweet as could be and a talented negotiator. Andy and Ansem were the twins, scary good at convincing people to do what they wanted. Ansem was the quieter of the two, easily bending to the will of his younger brother and happy as long as he was allowed to be close to him. Max Miller was the quiet one, Rufus's favorite, who had been extracted from the brutality of his family home by John the second the boy turned 18. Jesse was the youngest boy, a cheerful kid, barely 21 and legally adopted by Rufus, who wanted a family and had a brutal fighting streak a mile wide. Emma was the last, Dean's pet project. He was proud of her, barely 19 and deadly with anything that came into contact with her. She was quiet, though, and so they hadn't had a chance to talk much in the past little while. They had become friends in high school, and she had been one of the first he suggested to John to bring to full membership, though nothing came of it.

Jake looked at Dean, who nodded. Jake stood up from his seat, going to join them. He'd only just recently joined the table, having impressed John with his level head and insane strength. He and Sam were the same age, but as Sam had been raised in the club, Jake still felt like a part of the prospects and non-seated members. He stood with them, and argued fiercely whenever he thought they were being mistreated. Dean had always been a little nervous around him for some reason, but he followed orders and didn't try to double guess anyone. _That_ he appreciated.

The Prospects and younger members seemed relieved when Jake stood with them, and Dean looked them over, taking in the nervous, the excited, and the slightly fearful. The Winchester club was mostly young blood now, with only a few of the surviving elders.

"What do you think?" He asked, not looking away from the Prospects. "You're all young, strong. You sure you want to get involved with this on the understanding that we might end up on the other side of the law? Jail time is now a very high probability."

Ansem just blinked at him, his unnervingly still expression making Dean's skin crawl. Andy shrugged- he'd already done a stint. Ava looked like she'd relish the chance, Garth considered, and Max seemed troubled but firm. Jesse honestly looked excited, and Emma went back to cleaning her finger nails with a wickedly sharp pocket knife.

"Clearly everyone is very concerned by the prospect of jail time," Dean said dryly, lips twitching into a smile. "All right. The rest of you, what do you think? Bring them in, keep them out, discuss."

Everyone nodded, and turned the prospects out. Garth, Andy, and Ansem stayed, talking among the others. Benny was talking quietly with Jake and Tara, his voice a low rumble as Jake commented here and there and Tara nodded, thinking. Bobby and Rufus did their old married couple routine, just looking at each other and communicating through expressions and shrugs now and again. Sam got up, and talked with Garth as Andy and Ansem put their heads together, muttering back and forth.

Dean waited.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone sat down, the other three pulling up chairs at the table.

"Garth, if you please?" Dean said, and the man hopped up, calling the others in. They lined up against the wall, looking a little nervous.

"Show of hands on Ava Wilson?" Dean asked. Every hand went up. "Very good. Ava, welcome."

She beamed at him, and stepped to the side, away from the others.

"Show of hands on Max Miller?" Once again, every hand was up. Max shakily walked over to stand by Ava.

"Show of hands on Jesse Turner?" All hands went up, and Jesse let out a little squeak of excitement, scurrying off.

Dean smiled as he looked at Emma, who stood straight and tall. "Show of hands on Emma Faust."

Every hand went up without hesitation, and Dean looked over his no-longer Prospects. "Welcome to the club."

_oOo_

The house was mostly quiet when he trudged through the door. Someone had turned on _"Tiptoe Through the Tulips"_ on the record player, and he rolled his eyes heavenward, rubbing his temples. Sam had left early from the insane party that had gone on as a welcome to the prospects, so it was either him or Castiel, and he was going to have very little patience with whoever had decided that song was going to be the thing he had to come home to.

"So help me," he growled, swaying a little and giving up on taking off his shoes and jacket before stomping into the living room, not bothering with the lights. "Sam-"

There was someone in his living room.

His gun was out and cocked faster than he thought possible, steadily trained on the small man sitting calmly on the far chair. Suddenly, he felt a lot more sober.

"Dean, right?" The voice was a little reedy, as though its owner was tired, but had the familiar tones of the perpetually sardonic. "You can put the gun away, I'm not a threat to you."

"I'll be the judge of that, thanks," Dean said, reaching out and flicking on the light after a few fumbling attempts. The man came into focus, revealing shaggy sandy blonde hair, sharp green eyes, and a rather scrawny body. He was dressed simply, just jeans, a black shirt, and a black jacket, all of which had seen better days. A backpack sat on the floor near him, scruffy and battered. He had the look of someone who hadn't had much weight to start with and lost even more. "Who the hell are you?"

"I've had a lot of names," the man said, and Dean very nearly rolled his eyes at the drama of that statement. "You can call me Loki, and don't start with the jokes, it's one I've used my whole life. Okay?"

"Fine, Loki," Dean said, his mouth curling in distaste. "Why are you here?"

The man stood up, and Dean was only a little surprised by how short he was. He'd seemed bigger, somehow, when he was sitting in the chair. "Because you've got a cold blooded bastard in your house, and I've made it my life's work to keep him and people like him away from people like you."

Dean snorted. "What, bikers?"

"No," Loki said, eyes flashing. "The kind of people who jump the second the person they love tells them to."

"I don't jump," Dean said, affronted, and Loki snorted, crossing his arms in front of his thin chest.

"You haven't even tried to find out where he was," he countered. "The twins are dangerous, and you keep one like a pet."

"So you're here to tell me that Cas is – what, a mob hitman?" Dean asked, trying not to sway where he stood. While the burst of adrenaline had helped, there was a reason he'd had Benny drive him home. "I'm sorry, but the kid I grew up with who was scared of chickens, and couldn't ride a bike, and cried when I dropped a fake spider on him couldn't have become a killer. I know something happened to him and Jimmy, but not that. He wouldn't even set out mouse traps in his own house."

"Your devotion is adorably misguided," Loki said disdainfully. "Your precious Castiel and his dear brother James have tortured and maimed their way down the East Coast and through the North. Look up the Church of the Mother when you get the chance."

Loki moved like lightning, easily snatching the gun from Dean and stripping it in seconds. The pieces clattered to the coffee table, and Loki picked up the ugly backpack.

"Something to think about," he said, and walked past Dean to the door.

Dean watched him go, unable, or perhaps unwilling to convince himself to stop the man. Loki shut the door gently behind him, and if not for the stripped down gun on his coffee table, Loki may as well have never been there. Dean pulled out his phone, and shakily dialed Benny.

"I need you back here now," he said without preamble when he heard him pick up. "There was someone in my house."

Benny ended the call.

oOo

Castiel was not in the house, and Dean was trying very, very hard not to panic. Benny had all the unflappable calm of someone who'd grown up around alligators, patiently dusting down the gun for prints with the white dust from Sam's old print kit. John had bought it off of Victor years ago when Sam was on a forensics kick. It was one of the very few gifts that Sam had genuinely loved, and Dean couldn't remember how many times he and John had patiently sat at the old table, letting Sam meticulously ink and take their fingerprints. He probably still had a whole book of them, somewhere.

Benny stood up, looking like he was trying very hard to keep his temper. "You couldn't have just, I dunno, stopped him from leaving?"

Dean glowered at him. "It didn't come to mind. He'd just stripped down my gun faster than I can, I was a little startled."

"That's no excuse." Benny closed up the case. "Whoever this Loki guy is, he's good. I can't lift anything, sorry."

Groaning, Dean rubbed his head. "Fuck. That's what I figured." He swayed a little, and Benny caught him, sitting him down on the couch. He clutched his head, hissing in pain. "God. I can't believe this."

The door opened just as Benny was about to speak, and Castiel stepped in, looking around with wide eyes. "Dean? What happened?"

"Where were you?" Dean demanded, trying to stand up only to be pushed back down. "Cas, I was worried sick."

"I went out for a walk, the weather was nice," Castiel said, looking at the gun covered with powder. "Dean, what on Earth-"

"There was an intruder," Benny said abruptly, pushing Dean firmly down as he tried once again to get up. "Stop that, Dean. He managed to get Dean's gun away and disassemble it, but Mr. Trained-In-Krav-Maga here couldn't manage to keep him from just waltzing right out the door. I tried to get prints off of it, but it didn't work."

Castiel had gone pale, looking Dean over with anxious eyes. "Are you all right?" he demanded, his face ashen. "Dean-"

"He's fine," Benny interrupted, testy. "Just fuckin' peachy, thanks for the asking. Make sure he doesn't puke in his sleep, I'm out." He stood up, heavy boots clomping on the floor as he stalked away, brushing hard past Castiel. Dean watched him go, feeling a little hurt but unwilling to call him back.

"I'm going to bed," Dean said. "You can take my room." He stood up slowly, the jacket on his back heavy. Castiel looked torn and confused. "Make sure you lock the door."

He walked into John's room and shut the door firmly, heart pounding. There was nothing but silence outside the room, and he tried not to feel relieved.


	7. Children of Prosperity

Max was there when Dean rode up in the morning, as scruffy and sad as usual. He looked healthier than he had in months, though, and the jacket settled nicely on his shoulders, his jeans shoved into his boots. Dean felt a surge of affection, which only heightened when Max smiled up at him from where he was sitting on the porch of the garage. "Hi, Dean."

"Hey, Max." He ruffled his hair as he went past, trying not to feel too sappy when Max clearly leaned into it. It seemed that after so many flinching, scared movements around him, Max was finally starting to realize that Dean had no intention of hurting him. Dean paused, gently scratching through Max's hair and feeling a small smile on his lips when Max sighed in contentment, leaning against his leg. "How's it feel to be a full member now?"

"Great," he said, looking up at Dean with a positively huge smile. "I've never been this happy."

"Good," Dean said, fond. "Good to have you." With one last stroke through his hair, he walked into the garage, headed for the office.

It had been Dean's idea to bring in the new blood. While the good old boys club wasn't an issue, really, they were getting smaller and smaller. Soon, they would have been three men in tattered jackets. Dean had gone out and found the people who needed the club, who needed family they didn't have and hope that no one would give them, and gave them a home to turn to. Female, male, gay, straight, bi, or what have you, John Winchester had taken them all with some careful prodding, and Dean was proud of what the club had become.

Emma was inside the waiting room, her new vest sitting firmly on her shoulders. She was trained in martial arts, Jujitsu and Judo specifically, and preferred her arms freed up, much like Sam. Dean's heart swelled with pride as she stood up, turning to show it off.

"Looks nice," he said approvingly. "Nice and shiny. How's your head?' Emma had very enthusiastically downed at least six shots at some point, probably more, and he vaguely remembered her dancing on the bar at some point. She grinned impishly at him, tossing her hair.

"Feels fine. I don't get hung over, remember?"

"That's right, you superhuman weirdo," Dean said with a fake scowl at her, making her smirk and preen. The girl was a pain, but she was Dean's favorite all the same. Stubborn, determined, and dryly witty, she'd been forced to grow up too fast, and Dean was a sucker for people with tough lives. Emma had been raised by a brutally strict MMA fighter mother who was gone more often than not, and had actually clung to Dean in high school. She'd been in one of Sam's classes, and the two hit it off well. She was fiercely loyal, and looked at Dean like he'd hung the moon from day one.

"Where are the rest of my wayward children?" Dean asked as Andy wandered in from the garage, Ansem trailing behind him like an over eager puppy. Andy shrugged eloquently, smiling lazily up at him as he collapsed into one of the chairs.

"Not a clue. Max was outside giving thanks to the universe or something earlier," he said. "Hey, can I be excused from meetings today? It's just that Tracey wanted to do dinner and I want to fix this, man. You know what she's like."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You used that excuse last week," he pointed out, and Andy slumped.

"Dammit."

Emma smirked, sauntering her way out the door to go and sit by Max, who looked thrilled to have company. Dean just shook his head, and sat down at the desk.

oOo

The shop was actually quite efficient, and raked in a good amount of money. John, being the grouchy, mistrusting bastard that he was, had operated under a "if you're cheap, they will come" philosophy. As a result, the Winchester Repair Shop boasted the lowest prices in town and the best service. It drove the dealers crazy, but the shop made money hand over fist, and Dean couldn't help but be pleased about that. Some went to the club, but the rest went to pay fees for the community college classes Dean had badgered the younger ones into, and a little more into a side account that was steadily growing for Bobby and Rufus's retirement. Dean had insisted on the community college. A high school dropout without even a GED, he was determined that the younger ones learn. He hadn't been able to harangue Sam into going for the sheer fact that Sam could get in anywhere he'd like and hadn't bothered to actually apply anywhere.

And so in the afternoon, before meetings, he found himself at the table working intently on darning his socks as his new club members whined at him about their classes. Ansem was the only one who wasn't trying to get out of them, but that was simply because there was a girl he liked in one of them. Andy's whining was only half hearted, as he delved through philosophy. Emma was loud to whine about anatomy, but quick to explain all about the lymph system, and Max was going for a social work degree like a dog with a bone, but would deny it fervently if asked. Ava was working on a secretarial degree and Garth, of all things, wanted to be a dentist. Dean knew more about teeth now than he ever wanted to know.

But he was good with a needle and thread, and despite the teasing about him being some delicate housewife, Dean settled in to work on the socks, shirts, and other things that got ripped in the course of a week, patiently listening and commenting when necessary. As Dean worked the needle with smooth, easy motions, he found himself actually smiling, basking in the comfort of having family around. Even when Sam came in, reeking of oil and getting it all over a chair, he just handed him a couple of rags and told him to clean it up.

Once everyone else stumped in, Jake showing up with a cocky smirk and an "I-got-laid" swagger, Dean put away the darning and ignored the eyeroll it got from Rufus. Tara shooed Andy out of her seat, Bobby broke out the Chinese he'd brought, and everyone settled in to eat. It was a tradition Mary had started. Once a week, the club got together for dinner. It was typically loud and happy, and Dean's favorite part of the week.

Benny was noticeably absent, and Dean tried not to be terribly upset about that. After a moment where everybody looked at the empty chair, Dean shrugged and forced a smile.

"The man has things to do, I'm sure," he said, as Max slumped. Max and Benny got on well, largely because Benny had once beaten Max's uncle into a bloody ugly pulp when he'd seen the bruises on the boy's side.

That particular act of violence had inspired some very wild sex. Dean appreciated his subordinates work and made it clear to them. Benny, granted, was the only who was regularly fucked for his work.

"You have sex-face on," Emma said, shaking him out of it. Ansem and Andy snickered, while Ava rolled her eyes. Dean ignored them all, delicately getting the chopsticks out and going for Sam's box.

They were well into dinner, relaxing and laughing, when the door swung open and Benny sauntered in. Castiel came behind him.

Dean froze with Mushu pork halfway to his lips.

"Look who I found on the road," Benny said, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. "Thought I'd bring him for dinner."

Everyone enthusiastically agreed, and Dean shoved the pork into his mouth. He hadn't seen Castiel in the morning, but hadn't worried about it. Castiel had always been the kind to wander where he liked, hiking all over the countryside, and Dean had long since stopped worrying about his roaming best friend.

Mostly.

Castiel was given the seat on Dean's right, answering the clamor of questions as Benny grabbed another chair. Even Tara seemed pleased to see him, and Tara was never happy to see anyone.

Once he'd been given a box, chopsticks, and a cookie, people mostly left him alone. Dean waited until the chatter had started again before leaning over and saying a little reluctantly, "Sorry about last night. I was… It was bad. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Castiel said quietly, picking at some rice. "I understand that you were stressed."

"We'll need to talk later," Dean said quietly. Castiel nodded, eyes still on his food. Dean went back to his.

All of a minute later, Castiel said, "How do I get to Prospect status?"


	8. I Shall Not Fear

Sam didn't follow them home, peeling off into town as Dean and Castiel headed toward the house. The meeting had dissolved into chaos as everyone tried to decide if Castiel even needed to go through the Prospect stage. The answer had been an overwhelming "no" on all sides, and as such Castiel had been gifted with a coat then and there.

They were both silent as they walked into the house, and as Dean hung up his coat, Castiel sank onto the bench, holding the jacket. Dean sat beside him, looking at the red wings and the elaborate stitching.

"This isn't right," Castiel said after a beat. "I haven't earned this. I shouldn't get it just because I'm Michael's son."

Dean hesitantly reached over, wrapping an arm around Castiel's shoulders and feeling more than a little relieved when Castiel leaned into him, resting his head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, simply sitting together and breathing each other in.

"Cas," Dean said softly, "I told you that I wouldn't ask about what happened, and I'm not asking now. But there are things that you need to know."

Castiel didn't move, but Dean felt him tense a little.

"Your dad… he got pictures in the mail. Pictures of you and Jimmy. I've seen them, and I talked with the man who took them. He was the one who broke in the other night. Short guy, calls himself Loki."

Castiel pulled away, pale as a sheet. "You saw Loki? He was here?"

Dean stared at him. He couldn't say that this was the reaction he'd been expecting. "Uh, yeah."

Castiel jumped up, pacing the mudroom floor, his hands running wildly through his hair. "No, no, no, _no_." He spun around, looking desperately at Dean. "How did he find me?"

"I don't know, Cas, and honestly, I don't care," Dean said, as placating as he could. "As long as you stay, I'll do my best to protect you, you know that."

Castiel nodded slowly, the wildness calming. "I… Yes." He leaned against the wall, running a shaking hand over his face. "Dean, Loki is dangerous. You have no idea what he's like. If you see him again, promise me you'll run."

Dean started to protest, but Castiel cut him off with a raised hand.

"Promise me," he insisted, completely serious. "Please, Dean, I need to know that you're safe. Don't go after Loki, he's unbelievably dangerous. I can't stress that enough."

Dean stood slowly, frowning, but nodded. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "I won't go after him."

"And don't send anyone else after him," Castiel said sternly. Dean's shoulders slumped.

"You know me too well," he said reluctantly. "I won't send anyone else after him."

Castiel put out his hand, pinky out like they were still kids. "Promise?"

Dean couldn't help but smile a little, linking their pinky's. "Promise."

 

oOo

Dean stepped out of the shower feeling a good deal more relaxed since their talk, and once he'd thrown on a pair of rather holey boxers and a shirt, wandered out to his bedroom. There was a lump of blankets in the darkened living room area, which he ignored. Castiel was probably already asleep in the cocoon, so he walked quietly to the bedroom and flipped on the light.

The blankets had apparently not been hiding Castiel, who was, in fact, naked on Dean's bed.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Cas, are you trying to scare me to death?" Dean demanded, his chest heaving. "My god. That was terrifying."

Castiel's eyebrows rose. "Am I really so ugly?"

"No, you just- just don't scare me like that again, okay?" Dean said, his heartbeat slowing back down. Cautiously, he approached the bed. Castiel was laid out, and the light caught on the many tiny scars littering his torso and legs. "Cas, what happened?"

"Knives, mostly," he said nonchalantly. "These two here are from a Tazer." He pointed to two little ones on his side. "The one circular one on my thigh is actually from the end of an umbrella, not a bullet."

Dean slowly sat on the bed, looking them over without touching. He was doing his damnedest not to let his dick take an interest in the proceedings, but Castiel was goddamn _gorgeous_ , and holy shit he kind of wanted to see what he looked like when he came. _Fuck_. His fingers itched to touch. "Goddamn."

"I know," Castiel whispered, looking down. "It's been a strange 8 years."

Dean reached out, gently stroking down a few when Castiel gestured in invitation. "I'm not going to ask," he said without looking up. "But thank you for trusting me with this."

"That's not all of it," Castiel said, and after a moment's hesitation, rolled over. Dean bit back a gasp.

Castiel had tattoos. The largest, taking up most of his back, was an elaborate, beautifully rendered icon of the Virgin Mary dressed as the Grim Reaper. Her right hand was raised beatifically, and her left held a massive scythe. He halo seemed to glitter and glow, and on a closer look Dean realized it was made of golden swords. Her robes were black, her face calm and pleased, but there seemed to be a shadow of a skull under her skin. Beneath her serene feet, was written a verse that Dean vaguely recognized from the Bible. It was two lines. The first letter of the first line was beautifully illustrated, and the second in tall, serifed letters, stretching from hip to hip, read the words "I Shall Not Fear".

The first letter of each word was illustrated, and practically gleamed. The color was rich, even though it was clearly some time since it had been done. Dean gently ran his finger over the verse.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death," he read aloud, "I shall not fear."

Castiel nodded, his lips tight. Dean traced over the exquisite art, stunned. "My _god_ , Cas, how long did these take?"

"The Virgin took about a month," Castiel said quietly. "The lettering took another two. It was all done by hand."

Dean ran his fingers over the letters, awed. The workmanship was incredible, the detailing beyond fine. His tattoos had nowhere near the quality that these did. Hell, the Virgin's robes looked like real cloth. And all the delicately rendered letters, well. He'd never seen anything like them. They might as well have come right off a manuscript from the Middle Ages.

He suddenly felt exposed, and made an aborted grab for a shirt. His hand fell back down the second he realized how ridiculous he was being.

"Yours make mine look like little scribbles," he said, even though he wouldn't trade Vonnegut's birdcage that Tara had carefully inked onto him the day he turned 18 for anything. Besides the birdcage, the same Latin exorcism was written in tiny letters down his spin, an anchor with a white sash wrapped around it sat on his left shoulder blade, the Winchester Club's crossed guns beneath that. Flames wrapped from his waist to his hip on his right, and an intricate tramp stamp he'd gotten done in heavy black finished it all.

"Please, tell that to Tara when I'm around, I really want to see how far she can throw you with a single punch," Castiel said, rolling back over to grin up at him. Dean's heart ached. There was the Castiel who'd left him 8 years ago, laughing and relaxed. He missed him so badly sometimes, and before he could think about it, he leaned down and kissed him.

It really wasn't that good of a kiss, but Castiel fixed that quickly, and Dean groaned into his moan when firm, callused hands grabbed at him. It didn't take much to get him up and into the bed, and it took even less to get him hard. The kissing was great, he was completely on board with that, and hell yes to all the hickeys he was going to have tomorrow thanks to Castiel's wickedly talented mouth, but-

"No," he said pulling back when Castiel's hands wandered south. "Not- I can't. Not yet."

Castiel's hands paused at his waist, and he looked at Dean carefully, clearly reading the sudden panic.

"Are you having a big gay crisis?" he asked dryly.

"No, Cas," Dean growled, pulling back and a little offended. "I just- I'm not ready for that. Not when it means something to me, something important. Okay?"

Castiel looked surprised. "Dean, you sleep with anything that has legs."

"But you're important!" Dean snapped, lashing out to avoid the hurt that was shoving its way into him. He wrapped the towel back around him, embarrassed and desperate to get away. He shouldn't have let this get started anyway, Benny had had enough of an issue with it when they first started hooking up, he should have known-

A gentle hand on his shoulder made him pause, and he looked up unhappily. Castiel was looking at him with a somewhat hesitant expression.

"I'm sorry," he said, and that was enough to make most of the hurt dissipate. "Look, just… stay with me? Just cuddling, I won't try anything. I know you're a slut for cuddling."

Dean scowled. "Don't you dare tell anyone," he said, but the threat had no weight behind it. Castiel just smiled, kissing his forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

It was enough.

They ended up settling into bed, after Dean went and lugged the box fan out of the closet and opened the window. Dean's cigarette glowed in the darkness, and the smoke was being pulled out the window. It wound through the air, making odd shapes and swirling with the air from the fan.

"D'you remember the day that I bought that first pack?" Dean asked quietly. Castiel had his head resting on Dean's shoulder, comfortably pillowed. "You wouldn't come with me so Jimmy did, and when we got back you started yelling at me about lung cancer and statistics and how I would die way too young."

"I remember," Castiel said quietly.

"Bet Jimmy never told you that he bought one too."

Castiel let out a huff of a laugh. "He tried to hide it. He failed so badly, but he was finally being a little rebellious so dad and I never said anything."

Dean smiled, taking a drag. "Oh, Jimmy. Never was as handsome as you, you know."

Castiel laughed. "We're _identical_ , Dean."

"What? Noooo."

Castiel laughed, gently butting their heads together. Dean chuckled, watching the smoke fly away over their heads. Dean felt small and large all at once, tiny under the onslaught of smoke and massive with Castiel tucked into his side. He wanted this forever, he realized with a start. He'd been feeling so empty and alone, even with the club and his family. He'd missed Castiel, missed him so deeply it hurt. He couldn't bear the thought of losing him again.

"Don't leave me," he said abruptly. "I know that you've got all sorts of shit that's happened to you, and you've got secrets and stuff, but- don't leave. Or if you do, at least let me know how you are once in a while." His throat tightened up. "I don't think I can take it again if you leave. It took me a good two years to move on the last time, I don't think I can do it again, I really don't."

Castiel tangled their fingers together, squeezing gently. "I'm going to have to leave at some point," he said quietly. "But I promise that I'll call at the very least."

Dean let out a sigh of relief and took a shaky drag. The smoke was whisked away by the fans, pulled out the window and out, away into the world.

"I was a priest," Castiel said abruptly. "So was Jimmy. We traveled quite a bit." He climbed off of the bed and went to dig through the bag he'd brought. Dean watched him, admiring the way the light caught his skin and the tattoos. He emerged with a small gold box, a little battered but still closed with ribbon, and brought it back to bed. He offered it to Dean, who took it curiously after dragging his eyes away from where they were drinking in all the beautiful skin on display.

"What is it?"

"A gift. I meant to give it to you earlier, when I arrived, but I just never found time."

Dean carefully opened it, and as the ribbon floated down to the bed, lifted out a snow globe. "Cas," he breathed. "Is that…"

"The Burj Khalifa," Castiel confirmed, his eyes bright and eager. "Dubai. It was so beautiful, Dean, you'd never believe it. It stretches up so high that when you look up, your brain gets confused. You just stand there trying to understand how it could possibly exist. It shines so brightly."

Dean turned the tiny Burj Khalifa in his hands, awed. Little flecks of white floated around it, and the little statue seemed to gleam in the darkness.

"You know, they think that tower of Babel was only 40 feet or so tall," Castiel said, settling back beside him and watching the snow float around the little Burj Khalifa. "But we just can't stop climbing up, can we? Even keeping the same shape, slowly spiraling up."

"Fibonacci sequence," Dean said absently. "Humans are drawn to it, it makes things strong and beautiful." He watched the snow fall. "God, Cas. You were in Dubai?"

"A year ago. We were in Detroit and just hopped on a plane. It was a very cheap flight, we were lucky. I'll never forget coming in, the place is so beautiful. We got to talk to some of the slave workers, even managed to get a few home to their families." Castiel looked wistfully at the little snow globe.

"Slaves?" Dean asked, startled.

"Mmhmm. Mostly Indian, though there were many from Oman and Somalia too." Castiel nuzzled at his neck, seeking comfort. "It wasn't pretty."

Dean set the tiny Burj Khalifa on his stomach, stroking through Castiel's hair with his free hand. "You and Jimmy saw a lot, didn't you?"

Castiel hummed his agreement, tracing mindless patterns over Dean's skin.

"I'm surprised you haven't commented on the piercings yet," he murmured, the steady touch soothing. Now that his towel had slid down, they were visible.

"What, the pretty little diamonds on your hipbones that make me want to bit them, mark them up, then turn you over and have my wicked way with you?" Castiel asked innocently. "Or did you mean the rings in your ears?"

Dean looked at him for a long moment.

"You are a bad, bad man," he said hoarsely.

Castiel grinned.


	9. Something Wicked

Dean was elbows deep in a sad little Geo Metro when Sam and Benny walked up. He caught the sight of their jumpsuits out of the corner of his eye and sighed. "It's never good news when you two decide to gang up on me."

The legs shuffled as Dean wrestled with a very tight bolt. It was true. Benny and Sam didn't much care for each other, rarely cooperating unless it was to try and convince Dean to do something. He wondered what it was this time.

"Dean, there's an emissary here."

Dean straightened up, the bolt in his hand. "From Garrison?"

Benny nodded, looking like it was taking every ounce of his self control not to go berserk. Dean wiped his hand off on a rag before pulling Benny in to kiss his forehead.

"Fierce little watchdog," he said, fond. "Finish up the Metro for me, I'll go have a little chat with our guest."

Benny seemed to deflate as Dean rubbed at an oil spot on his neck. Sam hid his smile, and for once in his life obediently went to finish up the Metro with Benny. Dean nodded approvingly and headed out, humming as he walked to the waiting room.

"Balthazar, good to see you," he said with a smile as he walked in. Balthazar Roche, while slightly annoying, wasn't too terrible to deal with, and got along well with the younger club members, shamelessly flirting with them all and making them laugh. Max and Andy adored him, soaking in the attention and basking in his presence whenever he was there. Dean liked him well enough. They weren't friends by any means, but they got along enough to chat.

Balthazar smiled back. He wasn't in his jacket, not a surprise given the brutal heat, and was in the standard jeans, gray v-neck, and Italian leather books that so epitomized him. He'd added a long necklace with feathers and golden charms, as well as a set of elaborate leather bracelets to complete the look. Dean tried not to feel too out of place at his easy style. "You're looking as fashionable as always," the other man drawled, looking him over in a way that made Dean feel like he should maybe covered more. The jumpsuit had been a joke for years, as they always met while Dean was working.

"I know, right?" Dean laughed, and Balthazar settled in, the ice broken.

They sat on the most comfortable set of chairs once Dean had come back with his gift from the other room. A sleek bottle of wine, it had a label that made Balthazar whistle in appreciation.

"If you poisoned that, I will be very sad for wine lovers everywhere," he said fervently, eyes fixed on it.

"It's a gift," Dean said, holding it out. "Well, kind of. I found it in the cellar after Dad died with your name on a tag. So unless you know another Balthazar Roche with a taste for Chateau Petrus, this is for you."

Balthazar carefully took the bottle, looking it over with a gleeful grin. "Were he not dead, I'd kiss him." He looked like he was going to start giggling hysterically. Dean just shook his head, amused.

Once Balthazar had recovered, he looked at him seriously.

"Dean, I know that Winchester and Garrison have their differences. Our history is different, our style is different, our very rules are different. Raphael doesn't want to even think about it, let alone take it into consideration. He wants Prosperity, Dean, and he's not interested in playing nice." There was no laughter in Balthazar's face now. "I don't like it. He's been meeting with people and talking about factories of all things."

"Factories?" Dean's eyebrows rose. "I thought Raphael had that thing about handmade crafts and artisan beers or whatever."

"He does. The man owns his own vineyard, he's a bit obsessed. He's vegan, he believes in the sanctity of forests, he donates to South African charities for homeless animals. Factories offend his very soul, but you know what doesn't?"

Dean's heart sank. "Willing workers, money, and guns."

"Exactly." Balthazar clasped his hands together. "Look. Prosperity isn't doing poorly, but there are people desperate for a job. I'm worried that he wants to prey on them. I don't like this, Dean. I know we're supposed to be enemies or whatever, but this reeks of foul play. I joined Garrison to get a family, a family who knew that money wasn't everything. It was originally made up of former police officers for fucks sake. Now I'm running guns and listening to boys who don't have a clue what they're getting into swear their lives to a cause that doesn't exist." Balthazar ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want a war, Dean, not over something that only improves one person's status."

"Neither do I," Dean rubbed his forehead. "Shit. This could go ugly fast. But where's he going to get money for factories?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say someone from here, from Prosperity. It'd have to be someone with pull, and serious money."

"Oh, God," Dean whispered, as it hit him.

"What?" Balthazar looked at him, worried.

"Aza Masters. He's an arms dealer. Serious money, government connections. His wife is a scary pieces of work, too. I think she's the granddaughter of a diplomat or something." Dean ran a hand over his face. "If they're involved… we don't talk about it, but they sell to warring countries, the kind with dictatorships that pay good money to stay dictatorships."

"Well shit." Balthazar looked pensive. "Look, I know we don't get along, particularly when it comes to how clubs should be run, but this is bad. I don't want my club going dark-side just to make some money."

"We'll figure this out," Dean promised. "Thank you for bringing it to me."

Balthazar nodded, somber.

oOo

Dean thought about factories all the way home, winding through Prosperity's grassy yellow hills. Far beyond, the mountains crouched down, their blue-gray bodies squatting on the horizon. Clouds were slowly creeping over them, fat and grey with rain. Lightning stabbed down, and Dean thought of the fires that plagued the state. Prosperity was often spared from the flames by virtue of rocky soil and a natural river barrier that fires generally couldn't cross. Only twice in its history had the flames crossed it.

Really, it was ideal for an arms factory. Small town, natural fire barrier, far enough away from any truly big cities to keep the State Police from taking too much of an interest, it was an ideal set up.

He pulled into the driveway, letting the bike idle for a minute. Castiel was out on the porch, sitting on the swing with a basket of thread and a mound of black fabric in his lap. He looked like he was sewing something. Dean killed the bike, climbing off and heading for the porch. His boots crunched the dry lawn, and he thought absently about watering it before shrugging the thought off. There was no point, it was summer and it would dry out fast.

Castiel was indeed sewing, his expression utterly serene as he stitched the back patch onto the fabric in front of him. Dean sat beside him, careful not to jostle him. "What're you sewing, Cas?" Dean asked, watching how neatly the needle dipped up and down. It was neat and a little dangerous looking, how effectively it stabbed up and down through the thick layers.

"I'm putting the back patch on something that I think should bear it," he said, stitching neatly. "I'll show you once it's done."

Dean nodded, carefully getting up. He came back with a beer, settling in again and just sitting with him, staring out at the mountains.

"Cas," he said quietly, "I found something out today. You know Aza Masters?"

"Yes?" Up, down. Up, down.

"He's trying to build an arms factory here.

Up. Stop.

Castiel turned his full attention on him, his eyes wide. " _What_?"

"Yeah." Dean took a swig of the beer, trying to calm his nerves. "It looks like he's teaming up with Garrison to make it happen. Garrison sent an emissary over, and he was supposed to just threaten me, but he told me what was going on. He's not happy about it."

Castiel sat back against the swing, his aggravation showing. "An arms factory," he murmured. "It's safe to say that they wouldn't be for sale to the American people or government."

"That's what we were thinking. I don't want our people to be making weapons of war, even if it does bring jobs in. I mean, I get it, this is America. Land of the free, home of the largest armed forces in the world, but this…this sits bad with me," he said quietly, taking another swig. "I just…I don't know what to do, Cas. I really don't. If Dad were here, he'd know how to handle this, but I've got nothing. I've never done anything like this."

Castiel set the fabric down. "John wasn't perfect, Dean. I doubt he would have known what to do any more than you do." He bit his lip, considering his words. "Dean, there's a reason he chose you as his successor. You're dangerously smart, and don't give me that look, formal education is far from everything. You were well taught in other areas, you know how to handle yourself in a fight. That's all this is, another fight. A battle of wits and wills."

Dean thought about that for a moment, and then slowly nodded. "You're right. As per usual. Thank you, Cas."

"Of course." Castiel picked his sewing back up. "When I'm done here, would you take me to that hobby store on Orchard? I'd walk, but I was cleaning all morning and wore myself out."

"Course I will." He leaned over, kissing his temple. "Anything, as long as you got the dishes done."

Castiel laughed, and the needle began its patterns again.

oOo

Jess opened the door with a sardonic smile. "Judging by the way you're looking at me, I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you broke up with your girlfriend."

"She broke up with me, actually," Sam said with a rueful grin. "Would you mind if I came in?"

Jess stepped aside, gesturing for him to step inside.

Her apartment was small, but the furnishings were bright and cheerful. The little kitchenette was neat and clean, her bed made with an orange comforter, and there was an unfinished painting done in reds and oranges sitting on an easel by the window. Plants, mostly cacti, littered the windowsills, and on the coffee table was a stack of books almost a foot tall.

"This is nice," Sam said approvingly. "Even if the rest of the building looks like it could fall down in a gust of wind."

She laughed, closing the door. "Coffee?"

"No, I'm actually here to ask if you want to go to dinner with me," Sam said awkwardly, shuffling his feet a little. "I can get us into La Mare if you like Italian. Um." He blushed brightly, looking down as she smiled at him. "Sorry, I haven't really done the whole first date thing in a while."

Jess shook her head, her eyes fond. "You're adorable. But you know what I'd really like?"

Sam peeked out from under his bangs.

"If we went to the snow cone shack and got some, and then headed back here and watched some ridiculously cheesy movie that's supposed to be scary but isn't, so we could cuddle up together."

Sam felt a smile creep onto his face. "I like that idea."

"I'll get some shoes."


	10. Meetings

Balthazar arranged the meeting for Saturday evening the week after he had spoke with Dean. The morning of the meeting, Castiel finished his work.

Dean was drinking his coffee and pouring over his newspaper when footsteps on the stairs made him look up. He very nearly dropped his mug.

Castiel stepped off the stairs, spreading his arms. "Well?"

"Well, _damn_ ," Dean choked out hoarsely. "I mean. _Cas_. Holy shit, you look good."

The man was in heavily modified priest robes. The back patch had been neatly sewn to them, the white collar tight around his neck and embroidered with the Winchester's sun and star in bright red. The black of the collar had the exorcism spell embroidered on it in the same red in tiny letters. His right sleeve had patches sewn to it as well, Michael's old sword patch at the top, followed by chevrons, one in blue and one in red, and below it a seashell in green. His left had only a sword pointed down, with fiery wings to each side of it.

The sides had been slit to the hip, and as he turned, Dean realized he'd poured himself into leathers at some point. His front had no patches, which wasn't surprising. If he didn't feel he'd earned even the back patch, there was no reason for him to have them.

Dean stood up, going over to gently run his fingers over the material. "Cas, this…damn."

"I'm impressed that I've manage to render you speechless." Castiel sounded entirely too smug, but Dean didn't bother ribbing him back. He was too interested in looking over the patches.

"Okay, I get Michael's old sword. Honoring your father all and all that. What's with the chevrons and the seashell?"

Castiel twisted to look at them. "The chevrons are to remind me to protect. In heraldry, they're for faithful service. I served as a priest," he touched the blue, "and I will serve you." He touched the red. "The seashell is for someone who's travelled, and I have done nothing but that since I left. The green is for hope, and loyalty in love."

He was determinedly not looking at Dean, who'd caught his breath.

"Think you could get me one of those?" he asked at last, and Castiel looked up with wide eyes just in time for Dean to pull him into a searing kiss. They were lost in it in seconds, clutching each other. Hands were scrambling for purchase, and Dean was debating pulling off his collar, when there was a loud throat clearing.

Sam was looking at them both from the stairs, utterly disapproving. "Really, guys? You couldn't wait until I was gone?"

"Screw you, I didn't even know you were home," Dean squawked, well aware that he was bright red. Castiel groaned, letting his head thunk onto Dean's shoulder. Dean rubbed his shoulder, saying sympathetically, "I know, Cas. Such a cockblock."

_"Rude."_

 

oOo

While no one seemed all that surprised when Castiel showed up, riding bitch on Dean's bike, there were still some looks exchanged at his choice of clothing. Dean resolutely ignored all the pointed stares, and Benny sidled up to him as they started walking towards the meeting place, an empty and abandoned parking lot for a building that was never built on the outskirts of town.

"While I'm certain, oh wise and illustrious leader, that you have your reasons for bringing Castiel there along, I have to wonder if it's particularly wise to antagonize a reportedly highly religious man with one of your club members wearing desecrated priests robes, for lack of a better term," he drawled, keeping his voice low. "Raphael doesn't take kindly to stuff like that, you know that as well as I do."

"I'm perfectly aware of that," Dean said quietly, nodding to Sam as his long legs caught up. He looked intimidating, his hair pulled back into a tail and just a tank and his jacket on, his sleeve tattoos on display. The bandana with the skull on it over his nose and mouth added to the effect. "Raphael will have to deal. We have a man of the cloth, he'll have to accept that."

Benny frowned, but didn't try and force the issue. Raphael and the others were walking towards them, rowdy and joking with one another. The Winchester Club was near silent as they approached, letting Dean, Sam, and Benny take the first row and standing in a carefully situated group behind them. Those with handguns ringed them. Those inside were talented in other ways. Above, on a nearby hill, Dean knew Rufus was crouched down, ready to snipe them on a signal.

"Dean Winchester," Raphael called in his silken voice. "I wish I could say it was nice to see you."

"Raphael," Dean acknowledged, inclining his head. "I have to say I return that sentiment." He looked over the group, noting a very unhappy Balthazar at the back. That didn't bode well. Metal gleamed in the moonlight, serious firepower in the form of AK's and shotguns. "I see you brought weapons."

"As did you," Raphael pointed out.

"I brought standard handguns, not the kind of things you use in firefights in a war zone," Dean said, his voice dripping with polite disdain. "But enough chat. I was told you wanted to talk."

Raphael smiled, his teeth sharp as knives. "Business, business, business. You're far too obsessed with it for your own good, Dean, particularly for someone without even a high school diploma to credential him."

Dean just twitched an eyebrow up, unphased. "Was that supposed to be an insult?" he asked. "Because, really, I've heard worse from pimply 14-year-olds."

"Just an observation." There was a slight twitch to his eye, though, and Dean resisted the urge to smirk. Raphael _hated_ it when things didn't immediately go his way. The man straightened up, adjusting his jacket. "I'll make this simple, Dean. I'm going to start buying up property here in Prosperity. I have a few projects that I think would work better here than anywhere else in the territory I already cover. In perhaps two months, you and I will have to come to an accord."

Dean just stared at him, his expression polite but impassive. Raphael frowned. "What, no witty rejoiner?"

"Oh, I was just waiting for you to get to the bit where you threaten to take over," Dean said, "but by all means, carry on."

From the back, Balthazar grinned. A vein in Raphael's forehead twitched.

"I will not abide two clubs on the same soil," he ground out. "We will have you, or we will kill you. The bitches will be thrown out, I don't care for them."

Dean frowned. "Bitches? I'm afraid the only one here who owns a dog is Bobby, and Rumsfeld's very much male. I really don't know what you're talking about here."

"The _women_ ," Raphael snarled.

"Oh, Tara and Emma and Ava?" Dean said, the picture of innocence. "I don't see that working out for you. See, Tara knows fifteen different ways to kill you with a tattoo gun, Ava could probably garrote you in line at Starbucks and leave without blood on her hands, and Emma, well. Emma's my sweet little Amazon warrior. The first time I insulted her, she threw a butter knife from twenty feet away and just about gutted me. It was a thing of beauty, that throw." His voice hardened. "They are members of this club. They earned their right to wear our patch, probably more than most of the men have. To think that you would disrespect their contributions and cast them aside is the height of disgusting, and because you disrespect them, be aware. You will not be moving in, you will not take over, there is no conceivable outcome where you win, because the women of this club will personally destroy you."

"Can I get an amen?" Tara drawled, baring her teeth in a grin.

"I'll give you the goddamn Hallelujah Chorus," Benny said, matching her grin with one of his own. "Off key and everything."

Raphael seemed to draw himself up. "You have no idea the power I have at my disposal," he hissed. "The secrets I know about your family, the dirty little backstories that no one wants to let out."

Dean looked around at the others. "Um. Hmm. You mean like Emma killing her mom?"

Emma waved cheerfully.

"Or Max's family?"

Max shrugged.

"Or are you talking about Tara's abuse?" Dean asked, as Tara shrugged. "Because there are no tragic back stories here. Just stories that we already know, and that the town knows, and that the law knows." He spread his arms, smiling. "You don't get it. This isn't a club, this isn't a dictatorship ruled by the great and powerful me. This is a family."

"Oh, everyone's got secrets," Raphael said darkly. "Isn't that right, Uriel?"

For the first time, everyone looked to his right hand man, and there was a sudden intake of air from behind Dean. He glanced back, just in time to be pushed aside as Castiel strode forward. "Cas, what-"

"Uriel Azarov," he said, his voice cold and his shoulders tight. "Murderer."

The man lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. "I don't believe we've met."

"You killed our sister," Castiel said, pulling a necklace out from under his collar. It was the sharpened cross, and Uriel took a step back. "Chicago, three years ago. You slaughtered her in a used car lot, left her in her wedding dress with the word "whore" on a paper beside her. You took the time to make her wings from black spray paint, after you snapped her neck. You killed her. Did you even know her name?" His voice was strident now, and Raphael had stepped aside, apparently content to watch the drama unfold. Uriel stood riveted to the spot. "She was named Alexandra. She was the daughter of Rachel, she was trying to leave this mess all behind and start a new life, and you killed her!"

Uriel had a knife.

Dean watched it catch the light of the setting sun. It wasn't a true knife, he realized through the haze of fear, closer to a short sword. It gleamed in the light. He gripped it with the self assured stance of someone who knew exactly how to split someone else open with it. Castiel didn't seem particularly concerned.

"You will answer for your crimes," he hissed. "Whether I take you by force or not."

"You'll take me by force," Uriel said, sweating. "I won't be going easy."

"I didn't expect you to," Castiel said, his leg sliding forward as he balanced. Dean tried to step forward, but Benny threw out his arm to stop him, shaking his head frantically and pulling him back. Dean allowed it, reluctantly.

Castiel started a slow circle, Uriel copying him with wary movement. He moved lightly for such a large man, and Dean tensed when he saw how easily Uriel was handling the blade. Castiel was completely unarmed, and the strange, chrome covered sword was unnerving.

Uriel struck first, viper fast, and Dean let out a strangled cry. He needn't have worried, because Castiel dodged with ease, striking a blow with the side of his hand to Uriel's neck and harshly knocking the sword from his hand. He flipped it up and caught it one-handed as Uriel scrambled back, clutching his neck.

"You're out of practice," he said coolly as Uriel glowered. "Time was the you could have killed me before I took at step. You've grown weak in your hiding." He tightened his grip on the sword. "I should run you through for what you did to our sister."

Uriel spat, eyes blazing. "She was a traitor. She went to Loki for a way to get on the news, she had to die."

"No," Castiel said, his voice cold as ice. "She didn't." He moved then, swiftly striking towards Uriel, who blocked him and swung his fist in a punch that almost connected. The two began to dance back and forth, trading blows that never landed well enough to hurt. Castiel moved like a snake, viciously fast, but Uriel had apparently found his will, and was no slow mover himself. The sword, Dean quickly realized as Castiel blocked an overhead strike with it, was more of a hindrance to Castiel than anything, but he was able to land a few cuts. Uriel moved fast and flexibly, doing kicks that Dean doubted Ruby with her gymnast training could manage. Castiel was keeping up, blocking them and darting away before Uriel could fully recover so he could kick as well.

It ended with a run, a jump, and Castiel's arm around his throat.

The two Clubs watched him fall, and Castiel sat on him, pulling out a battered phone.

"I'm calling the police," he informed the others. "If you want to stay, by all means, do, but I will be greatly surprised if there aren't a few outstanding warrants among you."

Garrison shifted, but Raphael watched Castiel with dark, considering eyes. He seemed to be judging him, and Benny look at Dean with clear worry. Raphael was clearly interested, and that didn't bode well. Castiel had a quiet conversation with someone on the other end and the people from Garrison started inching away from their fallen comrade. Dean looked back at his club and nodded, letting them know to leave. Sam and the others left his side, Sam only after Dean muttered a threat to him, but Benny didn't move, his face set and his legs firmly planted. Garrison rode off, and the Winchester Club headed the opposite direction. On the ridge, there was a flash of metal as Rufus began his descent.

Castiel hadn't moved, keeping the sword pointed at the back of Uriel's head. Dean watched him for a moment before turning to Benny. "Call Sam and tell him to set dinner for five."

"Five?"

"I have the feeling that we're going to have a guest aside from you."

 

oOo

Dean wasn't wrong. When they got back from the station, Castiel clutching the $3,000 reward for Uriel (who had apparently killed more than just one woman), Loki was sitting on the porch swing with Sam very stiffly beside him.

"Dean," Sam said slowly, staying very still, "you didn't say that your guest was possibly a psychopath. This seems like a pretty serious oversight."

Castiel was stiff as he and Dean climbed off the bike, his eyes flicking around as he calculated. Benny just looked like he was considering how brutally he could beat the short man.

"To be fair," Dean said cautiously, "I wasn't actually expecting him to pull a gun on you."

The barrel was gleaming slightly from the porch light, and Dean felt his heart clench when he saw the slight tremble to Sam's hands. He carefully walked forward, waving at the other two to stay back. Loki watched him, wary, and pressed the gun harder to Sam's side when Dean was apparently too close. He stopped abruptly, lifting his hands.

"Look," he said quietly, "please just come inside and eat with us. The table was set for five for a reason. I don't know who you are, or what your deal is, but please. Just come inside. I know you've been watching, and I'd rather have you here."

Sam looked at Dean, a slightly desperate grit to his teeth. He kept twitching as though about to jump out of his seat and run. Beads of sweat were sliding down his face, and his lips were white with how tightly they were held. Dean wanted nothing more than to pull him away from Loki, but knew the second he took a step towards him, Loki would shoot. The man had the look of someone who'd killed before, and had no qualms about doing it again.

"Please."

Everyone turned to see Castiel, shaking like a leaf, staring at Loki with desperation. He sank to his knees, clasping his hand together to keep them from shaking. He stared up at Loki, pleading with his eyes. "Please, don't hurt him."

Loki stat very still, watching Castiel and obviously calculating his odds as he looked them over. Dean could feel sweat trickling down his spine, and Sam closed his eyes, hands curling to fists when the gun moved against his side. Where it was placed, there was no way that if Loki shot Sam would survive. Dean would be buying his second coffin in a month. His breath caught in his throat, the mental image of Sam laid out for burial so horrific it was all he could do to stay standing.

Finally, Loki nudged Sam, making him stand. If not for the gun, they would have been a humorous pair, as Loki was a good foot shorter. But Dean only sagged with relief when he holstered the weapon.

"You said something about dinner?"

 

oOo

Dinner was Benny's jambalaya, an enormous salad with no less than five homemade vinaigrettes, and bread, cheese, jams, honey, and delicately sliced roast beef with cooked carrots. Dean cooked when stressed, and it was a good thing, too, because Loki ate it all.

He was like a one man army, methodically working through it all. The group sat silently just watching in awe as he devoured it all. Benny silently went and ladled half of the remaining jambalaya into Dean's cheap Tupperware, so Loki could take it with. It was awkward to watch him- Loki ate like a man having a religious experience, with whimpers, moans, and delicate little mewling noises that left everyone shifting a little uncomfortably.

When he'd finally polished off the last of the salad, he sighed contentedly. "Never had anything like this at the compound, huh Cas?"

Castiel stiffened. "No," he said tersely. "I suppose not."

Loki stretched, groaning. "Pity. Now I get why you came running back here. It's adorable, you two playing house like you're all normal."

Castiel swallowed hard, ducking his head and staring at his plate. Dean frowned, reaching over to take his hand. "Don't get me wrong," he said, looking levelly over to Loki. "I know he's got secrets, the big, ugly, screaming at night kind of secrets. But I waited eight long, hard, lonely years for him to come back home to me. I'm not going anywhere." The last was said more to Castiel than Loki, and he squeezed his hand.

"I was part of a cult that worshipped the Goddess, and my mother tried to breed me to a woman named Amelia to carry on her bloodline," Castiel blurted out, staring resolutely at his plate. "But Jimmy was in love with her and I'm gay so we switched places and I ran away. They're trying to get out too. I was going to try and get the leftover money out of our college funds to get a car so I could get them, but the money is gone because of the hospital bills."

There was a long pause. Everyone was staring at Castiel. Loki's jaw had dropped. Sam and Benny were having conversations with their eyes, both daring the other to say something.

Dean just said, "A cult? Is that all? Fuck, thank God, I thought you'd gotten involved with the mob or gone to prison or became a contract killer for the Russians or something."

"I did meet a Russian hitman," Castiel offered with a shy smile. "His name was Sergei. And he was very gay."

"Yeah?" Dean grinned, squeezing his hand again. "Look at you, using high school German to make a joke."

Castiel's face lit up that Dean understood, thrilled that his joke made sense. Loki groaned.

"You two are sickeningly cute. Even after the big reveal. It's fucking horrific." He leveled a hard glare at Castiel. "You'd better tell him the rest of the story, little brother." Standing up, he grabbed the Tupperware. "Good job on catching Uriel, by the way. Fucker always was a sadistic bastard." He nodded to Benny, and then glanced at Sam. "Sorry for the whole hostage situation. Just had to keep things under control."

"I understand," Sam said, his voice tight. "Can't say I was thrilled, but I get it."

Loki stared at him for a minute, then smirked, his lips twitching into a grin. "I like you," he announced, and then headed for the door. "I'll be watching, Castiel," he called over his shoulder. "Don't forget that. Try anything, and you'd better watch your back. I won't hesitate to kill you."

"I understand," Castiel said tightly, frown as he watched him leave. The door shut firmly, and everyone slumped in their chairs, letting out a loud sigh of relief.

"Someone break out the fucking whiskey," Sam groaned. "I can't handle this shit."

Once everyone had drinks, they migrated to the living room. Castiel and Dean curled up on the couch, Dean firmly wrapping an arm around him. Benny and Sam took the chairs, and the whiskey was firmly placed on the coffee table, within easy reach.

"Okay," Benny said once they'd all settled in. "I can't be the only one a little confused here. I get Loki- he broke in the before, he's probably been watching the house. But who is he in regards to our dear little Castiel here, and how, exactly, did he end up in a cult?"

Castiel sighed as Dean bristled, ready to take up arms in defense. "It's a long story. Calm down, Dean. It's all right. It's time I told it."

Dean reluctantly sat back, and Castiel began, as all things should begin, at the beginning.


	11. In The Beginning

In the beginning, there was Mesopotamia. Sumeria, nestled as a little jewel between the Tigris and the Euphrates, was home to Gods and Goddesses. Those Gods and Goddesses changed with the people, Enki and Enlil losing their appeal, and in time, people brought the Gods to Greece. The Greek Pantheon came to be from the base of a religion older than organized time, and when Rome crawled its way out of the caves of wolves, the Gods went there too.

Vesta was the Goddess that a woman known as Sylva came to guard. She was a vestal virgin, one of the last, and tended to the sacred flames. The Emperor Theodosius, determined to take the new Christian religion as his own, demanded that the fire be put out. Even as it was put out, she spirited away a tiny piece of the branch. As the Vandals swarmed in to sack Rome, over 50 years later, Sylva's daughter, Antonia, was there to guard to the flame of the Goddess of the hearth. She took up a sword, and killed all those that came to her tiny house, with its hidden hearth. After that, Antonia packed up, and took the flame, lighting it to keep it going. She settled in what would become Paris, and married a man who remembered his grandparent's stories of the famous Vestal Virgins and their abilities. They had a daughter, and she tended the flames as well, while Paris grew around them.

Then, when the Christian God swept in, somehow Vesta's flame became devoted to the Goddess that must exist beside him. For, as was logical, if there was a God, there must be a Goddess to balance him. And like Vesta, and Hestia before her, she would be represented with the flames of life.

The history of the years following was mostly lost, but the flame was known to have been seen by Joan of Arc, and in time crossed to the American continents. It traveled for a while before ending up in the northern wilds of what would one day become New York State.

The flame and its history attracted people from across the countryside, namely women fleeing from the men who wronged them, and that was when it became a true religion again, a cult of sorts. The women who settled in the area began to build a compound to protect the flame. The compound was much like a fort, at first, then slowly became brick and concrete, and now, was concrete walled with steel reinforcements.

The queen of it all was High Priestess Naomi, a direct descendant of the woman who carried the flame from Rome, and the twins' aunt.

Hester Duval met Michael Novak about the same time that Mary Winchester was pregnant with what would be the first of three stillborn children. Their first meeting wasn't exactly romantic. It was at the opening of the Hang Dog Bar, and Michael spilled beer all over a brand new dress. She smacked him. He bought her a drink.

Hester was on the move, travelling the country in search of men likely to give her what she wanted. Somehow, her trip through California slowed enough for her to get to know the charming, handsome Colonel Novak, and decide to have children by him.

The deal was this. The line of descent went through women. Only women could be given to the flame as priestesses, and she'd already had two boys. She couldn't afford to bear more. Her sister, Naomi, was already in training to be the High Priestess. She, as the second daughter, was planning to bulk up the ranks with more women. She'd been travelling the country in an attempt to do just that. And yet, in Tennessee and Colorado, she'd had boys. It was frustrating knowledge, and she'd left them without a care. They were useless.

She and Michael married, and soon she was pregnant with twins, she was delighted to see. Michael was ecstatic, and only grew more excited when Mary had a small, fragile child that no one expected to live long. But her son, who they named Dean, survived and began to thrive. The twins were born three months later.

Boys.

She stayed just long enough to name them- Castiel, and James. And then she was gone again, disappointed with her failure.

She went back to the compound, and didn't leave again. She had a daughter named Ruth thirteen years later by a local man, and that was that.

But Naomi remembered her sister's less valuable progeny, and carefully reached out. After all, missionaries were useful, whether male or female. Castiel and Jimmy, missing their mother and feeling bitter towards their father at the time, were easy targets. One carefully written and cryptic letter later, and the boys were running to the waiting arms of a loving aunt. Naomi had them the second they walked into the town outside of the compound. Castiel had been lonely and upset, not sure he wanted to meet the woman who had abandoned them. Jimmy, on the other hand, had been near desperate too. He believed that something must have gone wrong, that she hadn't willingly left. Naomi took them in and coddled them, feeding Jimmy's need for a strong female figure, and soothing Castiel's loneliness with long conversation and gentle persuasion towards going out and meeting the women of the compound.

Somehow, they ended up taking vows to the Goddess, and were thrown head first into the missionary program, complete with rigid, deadly martial arts and gymnastics training. After all, there were people around who needed converting.

And people that the Goddess wanted punished.

Soon, Jimmy and Castiel were flying around the country, punishing those who had forsaken the Goddess one way or another. Jimmy became the main torturer, there to extract pleas of forgiveness, while Castiel caught them and brought them to the safe houses that the Goddess's cult kept. It was easy work, and they truly believed. The Goddess was truth, and others should know it as well. They travelled for 6 years, the first two having been spent learning the Goddesses ways and how missionaries should be. Castiel lost track of how many souls they saved, but he never lost count of the assignments that he was given to track down children that had been stolen from their parents. The Goddess, it seemed, cared for children more than anything, and so he and Jimmy often found themselves pulling children from cruel kidnappers.

Then, when they came back for their yearly check in and the religious holidays, things went bad.

Naomi had found another use for Hester's two handsome children. They couldn't be priestesses, but they could create them.

Castiel, as the eldest, was ordered to sleep with Amelia Jocasta, a delicate woman who had been brushed aside when she tried for priestess. Naomi believed she didn't have the right temperament, and when Castiel met her, he had to agree. She was a vibrant, happy woman most of the time, but the rejection had left her depressed.

Jimmy loved her on sight. Castiel felt nothing.

Doubt began to creep into their minds when they began looking around the compound and spending time in the town. Naomi ran the whole affair like a breeding program, selecting the beautiful and pairing them up for traits she wanted. Even as more people came to the faith, others vanished. Missionaries came back with blood soaked hands and smug smiles, and even though they now stayed with Hester and had gotten to know her, they learned that she was just as cruel and pragmatic as her older sister. They might save the lives of children, but the rest of the time they were forced to torture and maim in the name of a Goddess that professed to be about love and family.

And then the orders came. Before Amelia was to be bred, Castiel and Jimmy were to murder a man known as Jacabo, a carnival owner who was using his business to traffic children. Not torture, not warn, but kill. The man was evil, granted, but Castiel didn't think he could actually kill a man.

They gathered the evidence, instead, and dumped his unconscious body in front of the police station. Fifteen children were freed.

And when they returned, Castiel and Jimmy switched places. Jimmy took Castiel's place with Amelia. She was soon pregnant and Castiel, as Jimmy, was sent away to a job in Detroit.

He took another train, zig sagging across the country until, at last, he was home.

oOo

The living room was completely silent when Castiel finished his story. Benny was the first to reach for the whiskey, and poured himself a larger than strictly necessary amount. Sam followed suit, but Dean took the whole bottle and drank straight from it.

"Well, fuck," he said eloquently when he'd had his full. The bottle found its way back to the table. "That's only the most bizarre thing I've ever heard. Are they going to send people after you when they figure out you've flown the coop?"

"It's likely," Castiel admitted. "Naomi is the kind of person who doesn't hesitate to shed blood in the name of her Goddess."

Sam rubbed his forehead, taking a slow breath. "Looks like we're going to have a fun time of cult proofing the house." He eyed the whiskey again. "So, how'd you meet Uriel?"

"He was a missionary, like me. He was more often sent to murder than maim. Jimmy and I avoided him like the plague. He was very good at what he did." Castiel shivered, pressing closer to Dean. Dean wrapped his arm around him and hugged tight. "The girl he killed, she was Amelia's sister. She was like Amelia. Turned down for priestess, and told that she had to breed to appease the Goddess. She fled rather than do so, but Uriel caught up to her."

"Can't say I blame her for running," Benny muttered.

Silence fell again, and Dean took to stroking Castiel's hair. "So, where's Loki in all of this? Who is he?"

"Loki is my brother." Castiel ignore the shocked noises. "He's the second child, born in Colorado. My oldest brother, Zachariah, is a stock broker on Wall Street. Thoroughly nasty man." He ran a hand over his face. "Loki was once known as Gabriel. He was Naomi's golden boy. He has this- this way with words. He can make you believe things, you see, so he was invaluable as a missionary. He vanished six years ago, and then we started to get reports from the others that he was wandering the country, convincing people he was their friend before slaughtering them. Jimmy and I were sent to track him, and we soon learned that all the accounts had been highly trumped up. He never killed, he just found people who had done cruel things and punished them in rather creative ways. That's why I was worried. He's... He has a very unique sense of humor."

"Gabriel, huh?" Sam mused. "I think Loki suits him better."

Castiel nodded, and Dean leaned over to kiss the top of his head.

"This doesn't change anything," he said gently. "I know you're going to have to leave again to get Jimmy back, but I'll be waiting. I'll always be here to give you a home to come back to."

Castiel gave him a wobbly smile, and Benny groaned. "All right, I'm out. I'll walk back to my place."

"Should you really be going anywhere when there's a cult out for blood?" Sam asked. His tone was dry, but the worry was obvious.

"It's Dean's little angel that's the one being hunted. I'm not any threat, or being threatened." He stood up, brushing down his jeans. "I don't think anyone's all that interested in lil' ole me."

"I'm interested in you," Castiel said, completely serious. "You look like you bite. I appreciate that in a man."

Benny grinned, looking at Dean. "I like this one."

Dean flipped him off.


	12. Money, Honey

The morning brought with it rain, the fat droplets hitting the parched Earth and making it sigh with relief. Castiel sat outside on the porch swing in nothing but a pair of Dean's rattier pajama pants, watching the rain pour down. The world smelled fresh and clean, and he closed his eyes to breathe it in. It had been a long time since he'd seen the world like this. It had been a long time since he could sit and think of nothing but rain, and longer still since he'd been able to honestly say that he didn't want to have a knife in his hand.

The door opened, and Benny stepped out, stretching. Castiel watched him, eyes raking over him. He hadn't been joking about his interest. Benny had been with Dean plenty of times, and if he was interesting enough to keep Dean coming back, that was certainly something that Castiel wanted to get involved with.

Benny raised an eyebrow when he saw how he was watching. "See somethin' you like, darlin'?" he drawled. His accent was thicker in the morning.

"Just thinking about how difficult it would be to talk Dean into a threeway," Castiel answered honestly. "I like you. Dean likes you. Logically, this is a good pairing. And there's the fact that you look like you're perfectly capable of fucking me senseless against a door. That's a good selling point."

Benny was staring at him, a blush high on his cheeks. His mouth was slightly open. Castiel stood up stretching, and noted smugly how Benny's eyes followed him. That was flattering.

"I think I'll head inside," he said, stepping over so he was right in front of Benny. The man's blush darkened, and he swallowed hard. "I'll see you later, Benny." He stepped around him, trailing a hand over his hip and smirking at the choked noise it got him.

Dean was in the kitchen, his Unimpressed Face #5 firmly in place. It was different from Sam's bitch faces, and Castiel just grinned at him cheekily, leaning in to kiss his neck.

"You love me," he purred, and headed upstairs to get dressed.

oOo

By lunch, Dean had a comfortable black tank and some plaid on, and was looking out at the car that had been pulled out of the garage. The big black Impala didn't quite gleam in the sunlight, too dusty despite the dust cover that had been on it. He reluctantly touched it, his shoulders slumping. Even after all these years, even after driving it for some of it, the car still made his heart hurt.

"Dean," Sam said gently from beside him. "I can drive if you'd prefer."

Dean just shook his head, and opened the door.

The Impala had been kept in perfect condition, and most of the time looked like it had just drove off the lot. It had never been the preferred Winchester vehicle, though. John had taken the kids on his bike most of the time, only driving the Impala when necessary. No, this had been Mary's car, and always would be. Mary Winchester had fled from her home in her Impala. Dean's grandfather Campbell had come after her with a gun and a horsewhip, determined to finish the job after he'd murdered his wife, Deanna. It had been Deacon Kaylor who took him down in the end, sniping him from the room that would one day be Dean's.

Dean had never been embarrassed to be named for his grandmother, who had put up a ferocious fight that allowed Mary to escape with her life. Sam hadn't been named for Samuel, but for Samuel Jean Taylor, a private who had died in John's arms after taking a bullet for him. Sam, so far as Dean knew, he still hadn't been told about how their grandfather's cruelty had nearly cost them their mother. John had wanted to spare him from the tragedy, and Dean hadn't argued.

The car still felt like her, and as Dean slid into the solid leather seats, it was hard to keep composed. 24 years past, and he still missed her desperately. Sam took his normal seat, fidgeting in his nice suit. Dean hesitantly started her, and felt the tension in his shoulders slide away at the familiar rumble. He could feel it in his bones, curling and caressing over him. The Impala always felt like home, like he'd slid into the warm embrace of his mother and father all over again.

He gripped the wheel tight, gritting his teeth as he pulled slowly out into the street. It was strange to be piloting so much steel. He'd driven the Impala all through high school but had forsaken it as soon as he'd been given the other Impala. The little bike had been a relief, a freedom from the gas guzzling car. But all the same, he loved his Baby. She was his, and as they picked up speed, he felt something in him settle. The wind in his face was nice, but Baby made him feel alive and connected to his family in ways he loved.

The county courthouse was a good half hour away, and by the time they arrived Sam was in the middle of an argument with Castiel about Big Barda vs. Wonder Woman, and seemed to be winning. Dean was just grinning, and as they jogged down the steps to the basement, it was to lighthearted banter. They were headed to the map room, as Charlie called it, in order to go hunting for the information they would need to find where Raphael and Aza Masters planned to put the factory.

Charlie was in the middle of a rather intense air guitar solo, which was made funnier by the fact that she was wearing massive headphones and was in a particularly hideous lime green pantsuit. She danced around the room of ceiling tall wooden shelves and stout gray filing cabinets, singing under her breath. Dean leaned on the half door as Castiel chuckled, and Sam bit back a smile. The solo finished with a wild flail, and she threw her hands into the air. The men obediently started clapping, and her eyes popped open.

"Dean!" She said, mortified as she yanked the headphones off. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Because if I let you know, you dress like a normal person, and where's the fun in that?" Dean teased.

"Hey!" She was about to light into him when she saw Castiel. "Whoa, hey, you must be Cas!" she pulled the door open and hurried over. "Hey! You're back! This is great! Dean never shuts up about you, maybe now he'll stop pestering me about hunting you down. Which, by the way, congrats on being so hard to track down. I was seriously impressed."

Castiel looked a little overwhelmed, which was more or less the correct response when it came to Charlie, so Dean stepped in and gently pried her away. "Charlie, I know you want to interrogate him, but I'm actually here on business. I need a property map of Prosperity."

"What?" Her eyebrows rose. "Oh, are you looking at that big field your dad and Mr. Novak own?"

"Field?"

oOo

There was, in fact, a field. It sat on the outskirts of town, right beside the river. Ten acres, it was completely undeveloped. The paperwork said that Michael and John had bought it on the same day that they bought the Hang Dog Bar.

The other property maps were spread out across the table, and a few scattered coffee cups were holding down some of the maps. Charlie didn't mind- she could print others. She was in charge of the map room, and had updated them all, scanning them into the computer and easily managing them.

"So you'd need the river for cooling, space, and it would have to be outside of town. So I'm saying this field," she tapped the map, "and these two are the best choices." She tapped another two. "This one has an inhabited house on it, though, so it'd be harder to buy."

Everyone's eyes turned to the Winchester-Novak land.

"You know," Sam said slowly, staring at the paper. "When I went through Dad's papers, I found a mention of some property given to Michael. You don't think that he'd try to take it by force, do you?"

"Raphael isn't exactly known for his gentle ways," Dean said darkly. "If push came to shove with something he wanted…"

Everyone stared at the map.

"As much as the town needs jobs, I hate to think what Master's could do with a willing workforce. Dude is creepy," Charlie said. "But I think the real question here is more to do with if it's ethically correct to deprive people of jobs that could save them. I mean, Prosperity isn't really living up to its name."

"Those jobs will end others," Castiel said softly. "I've seen the killing fields of the Khmer Rouge. I want my home to have no part in anything that could bring something like that about. Aza Masters sells to those who want to kill. He may be going through legal channels, but this is not right."

The room went silent as they looked down at the maps.

"I think we might want to get to the hospital," Sam said.

oOo

The steady beeps and whirrs of the hospital had them all on edge as they hurried through the halls. The nurses didn't give them a second look without their jackets, and when they got to Michael's room it was just as Aza Masters was leaving.

"Ah, the Winchesters." Masters smiled, his teeth sharp. Dean felt his skin crawl, and just about took a step back. "I was _so_ sorry to hear about your loss. John was a … _unique_ man."

"Thank you," Dean said stiffly. Masters gave him another sharp smile and brushed on by, leaving the scent of gunsmoke in his wake. Castiel bolted into the room, all but throwing himself on Michael. The older man looked around, baffled. 

"Castiel, what are you doing?" 

Castiel checked him over, frantically lifting his arms to check things. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you? I'll make him pay if he did, are you all right?" 

Michael let out a hoarse laugh, smiling. "What are you talking about? Aza and I have been friends for years now, he wouldn't lay a finger on me." He took his son's hand, squeezing gently. "Now, what are you so upset about? Sit down, sit down, looking up at you hurts my neck." Castiel pulled up a chair as Dean and Sam closed the door and found seats as well. Michael smiled at them. "Good to see you boys as well." He squeezed Castiel's hand again, and then took Dean's, gently rubbing over the back of his hand. Dean relaxed, sighing in relief. "Now, what's wrong?" 

"Mom used you to breed us," Castiel blurted out. "I'm sorry." 

Michael stared at him. "What?" 

"Mom is in a cult. That's where I've been," Castiel said, swallowing hard. "They value women, that's why she left. Because we were boys." 

Michael sat back, his eyes wide. "Oh." 

"But that's not what this is about. Dad, Mr. Masters wants to build an arms factory here," Castiel said hurriedly. "He's partnered up with Garrison to do it. Their leader, his name's Raphael, he's planning on using one of two different places to build this place. Mr. Masters could do a lot of damage with his own armory factory, Dad, and one of the places he's looking at is the one that you and Uncle John bought the same day you bought the bar." 

Michael just chuckled. "Cas, you're not telling me anything I don't know." 

Silence fell, hard and fast. 

"What?" Castiel breathed. 

"I know, Cas. I intend to sell them the land," Michael said calmly. "It'll bring in a lot of jobs to the area. I'll be one of the shareholders. Aza and I have been talking about this for a few years now, and Raphael has an excellent business plan in motion." 

Castiel sat back, looking as though he'd been slapped. Dean's breath caught in his throat, and Sam's hands clutched the arms of his chair. 

"You…you intend to sell to people who will use what they know to fund murder?" Castiel said slowly. His face was slowly falling, the picture of a man losing his faith in his hero. 

"No, I intend to bring jobs to the area and revitalize the local economy." Michael's lips thinned. "Don't you dare tell me what to do or not to do, Castiel. You were gone for 8 years, and Aza Masters is the one who's paying for the hospital bills here." 

Castiel just lowered his head to his hands. 

"I don't see why you're so upset," Michael said coolly. "It's not as though you care. 8 years, Castiel. And I don't have any idea where your brother is. For all I knew, you two were dead. There wasn't any word from you, just pictures from someone who stalked you. You may be my son, and I will always love you, but it would have been nice to know that the reverse was true." 

Castiel looked up, his face anguished. "I sent letter after letter," he said, his voice hoarse. "I tried for _five years_ to get in touch with you. Five years, and not a word in return. I gave up after that. I thought that you were done with us." 

Michael's eyes widened, and Castiel stood up, his face closing off. 

"I've seen what damage people like Aza Masters can do," he said quietly. "I've seen men murdered in front of me. I've watched executions, seen people tortured and mutilated for fun. I cannot stand by and let this happen." 

"It's all legal," Michael reminded him. 

"Paid for with blood money," Castiel said. "This isn't right, and you know it." 

Michael sighed, leaning back into his pillows. "You came back, and you gave me a reason to fight to live," he said. "I'm better than I've been in months, and pretty soon they can start me on a new program. That program is thanks to Aza. We're going to be doing something legal, something that could help people. John and I always wanted this place to prosper, and there are plenty of other places around the country that make weapons, Castiel." 

Castiel hung his head, and Dean stood up, forcing a smile. "I'm glad that you're getting better," he said. "We'll get out and let you rest." 

Michael nodded, looking a little sadly at Castiel, who left without another word. 

oOo 

The table was quiet that night. Dean broke the news at the start of the meeting, and of them all, only Bobby seemed shocked. Tara just shook her head, and everybody fell silent. Outside the doors, the club waited. Castiel sat in the corner, waiting and listening. 

Sam was the one to break the silence. "We can fight this," he said. "Legally. Masters has a reputation, and I know Victor would love to get his teeth in him. He wants him out of town." 

"If he leaves town, the whole town leaves town," Jake said, looking up from where he'd been studying the table. "I hate to say it, but he owns us. He owns _everything_. He donates more money to the schools than anyone else in the whole damn county. One of his scholarships put my sister through school. I don't see how we could take him down and still have a town to live in." 

Tara sat up, smacking a fist on the table. "Fine. Masters isn't our issue, right now. We can handle him later, he's not going anywhere. Our problem is really Garrison. I don't care what the man opens up, if Garrison's involved, we have to look at a way of keeping them out of Prosperity. I don't want meth dealers in our backyard. Balthazar's the lesser of all the evils. He may be a drunk, but at least he's not feeding pills into the schools like his brothers." 

The table tensed, and Dean nodded shortly. "Fine. Let's make Garrison our biggest problem. Castiel's already taken out one of them, so here's the question. Who are our key players to take out, and how do we do it? How can we crumble Garrison enough that they can't make this happen?" 

oOo

The meeting broke up around 10, and Dean found himself at the house around 11. Castiel headed inside, the robes swishing quietly as he took the steps, but Dean waved him off when he looked back and quirked an eyebrow. 

"Go ahead, I'll be inside in a bit." He tapped a cigarette out. "I don't want to smoke in the house." 

Castiel nodded. "I'll just head to bed." 

"And what a lovely mental image that is." 

Castiel rolled his eyes, flipping him off before closing the screen door behind him. Dean sat on the low steps, flicking open his lighter. Crickets chirped and sang in the darkness, and the grasses rustled with the sounds of nighttime creatures having their way with one another. The neighboring houses were quiet, darkness firmly in place. Even his own house was mostly dark. The only light, aside from the stars, came from the soft glow of his cigarette. The smoke curled away as he took a long drag, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth and be stolen away. He felt like some old dragon, his body aching from the long day. He sat motionless on the steps, closing his eyes to relish the sensation. Soon, he knew, he would be upstairs. Castiel would be there to sleep beside him, at last. They'd talk quietly, they'd curl up together, they'd sleep. 

He was just contemplating what he wanted to for breakfast when the taser hit him. 


	13. Beat the Devil's Tattoo

He woke to the sound of water, and the clank of chain.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

The voice sounded far away, and female. Dean groaned, trying to move. His limbs didn't want to respond, and from what he could tell, he was only in his boxer briefs. The ground was cold and hard, chilling his skin.

"Stop trying, we gave you a nice little paralytic." The sound of heels came towards him, and he opened blurry eyes to see jet black pumps in front of him. "By now you're probably trying to figure out how what happened. The short story is, we had you kidnapped. Michael is a very accommodating man, when you get him talking. So _lonely_ , so desperate for a friend. And very, very twisted. I don't know if you've noticed, but he pays _special_ attention to you. I'm amazed he didn't try and take you when you were little. I've never seen such a controlled man, but then…he kept himself sated with your father. Did you know that? He talks about you with such longing."

Dean felt rage, white hot in his heart, and longed to reach out and throttle the woman. The pumps walked away, and there was the sound of chains again.

"I have to admit," Pumps called, "you are a pretty little bitch. Al is going to be pleased to get his hands on you. You're quite like your mother. Very pretty mouth, as I remember."

Dean tried to say something, to yell, but nothing came out.

"Oh, stop that." Pumps came back, and he was forced to stare at the black velvet. "Al will be here soon, we should get you strung up fast."

Chains, again, and he felt himself being dragged. His hands had apparently been shackled, and his legs as well. He wanted to fight, but all he could do was let himself be pulled around. He was pulled upright, his legs shackled to something, and his arms spread out before being chained down. Pumps was mumbling something he couldn't make out, even though he strained his ears.

There was a sharp jerk, and his head was pulled back by his hair. His eyes came a little more into focus, and they widened when he finally caught sight of Pumps.

Lilith Masters smiled at him. "Welcome back." She reached out, tightening something around his neck. "Oh, Al's going to love you. I'm the best sister ever."

She walked away, blonde curls perfectly in place, and Dean tried to look around. He was apparently in the Masters indoor pool, chained up to something like a cross near the door. He tried to get his body to move, but it wouldn't cooperate, his fingers barely managing to twitch. He kept at it, though, the adrenaline rush giving him energy, and could almost curl a finger on his right hand when he heard heavy steps coming down the stairs. He froze, staring apprehensively at the doors.

A man, tall and thin, stepped through. He smiled, and Dean felt fear like he never had before. Everything in him was screaming for him to run, to get away from whoever this was, because he was nothing but a predator and Dean was easy prey.

"So," the man said in a nasally voice, his smile broadening as he strolled towards him. " _You_ must be Dean. I've heard so much about you." He stopped in front of him, and Dean wanted nothing more than to jerk away and flee. The man reached out, touching the exposed skin of his neck. "So good of Lily to collar you for me," he murmured. "That saves time."

Dean managed a pathetic little mewl, and the man's smile grew wider. "Poor little pet," he crooned, stroking Dean's face. "But don't worry, we'll get you down from there. We have to get you to the plane."

_Plane?_ Dean was completely lost. Why would they be putting him on a plane?

"You're going to be a lovely addition to my collection," the man said, stepping back and looking over him appreciatively. "Those legs were made to be around someone's waist. Bowlegs, mmm. I think you'll be a good match for the senator I just got in. He has a thing for pretty brunets, and you'll do quite nicely. 200 a night, perhaps."

Dean felt his blood run cold.

"Oh, I see," the man chuckled. "Lily didn't tell you. My name is Alastair, and you belong to me now." He rubbed his hand along the collar on Dean's neck. "I got lucky. Aza wanted you out of the picture anyway, and I _do_ need a new boy after the last one died."

Dean felt his body begin to shake as Alastair walked around the cross.

"Lily wasn't joking about how pretty you are," he mused. "Your daddy must have been pissed about all the cock you sucked. No one has lips like that and avoids getting used."

Dean tried to move, desperate to flee, and let out a little noise of fear as Alastair stroked down his bare side and touched the piercings on his hips.

"Yes," he mused. "I like the piercings, those are a nice touch. We'll have to get more on you." He considered Dean's chest, a slow smile spreading. "We should definitely get these done." He reached out, tugging hard at Dean's nipples to make him groan in pain. "I think we could get them done now, actually. Start getting them healing early. It'll save time." He looked over his shoulder, calling, "Meg? Bring me my kit."

Dean squirmed as much as he could, trying to get away. A woman came down the stairs, short and brunette, carrying a heavy bag. She set it by Alastair and backed away, her head lowered politely. Dean squirmed as he pulled out a piercing gun, the panic finally making it so that he could move more.

"This might hurt a bit."

Everything went black.

When he woke back up, he was surprised to find that he'd been taken off the cross, his body stiff with the paralytic still wearing off. He groaned, trying to stretch, and screamed when pure pain shot through him. His feet were in agony, and he carefully looked up to see that his feet had been sliced to ribbons. His chest ached, and he looked down to see little gold rings in his nipples. Panic seared through him, and he tried to reach up. His hands were cuffed, though, and when he tried to move the chain attached to it tugged at the cuffs on his feet. He screamed again, the pain overwhelming.

"Stop struggling," a female voice said. He looked around wildly, and caught sight of Meg sitting on the stairs and watching him. She gave him a wry grin. "There's no point. He sliced up your feet so you'd be hobbled."

"Why?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse.

"They don't like it when you can run from them," she said simply.

"They _who_?"

She rolled her eyes. "The clients, you idiot. You're an owned whore, now, and Alastair will make you earn your keep. He just lost two boys, too, so you'll see plenty of work."

"I'm not owned," Dean snapped, letting out a little wail of pain as his chest ached.

"Yes, you are." She stood up, walking over so she could crouch in front of him. "You fucked up. You tried to fight them and you lost, so now you have to pay the price. Just like me, just like all the others."

"What did you do?"

She pursed her lips. "Sorry, cupcake. You don't have any reason to know that." She straightened up. "We're headed to a nice place in the Catskills. It's not that bad. Three meals a day, on site doctor, and generally the clients are just gay boys in denial. Senators, you know."

Dean looked up at her helplessly, and she laughed, mirthless. "Don't give me that look. You'll get used to it. Dean Winchester doesn't exist anymore. He died yesterday evening."

Dean's heart began to pound, and he was about to say something when footsteps echoed down the stairs. Meg flicked her hair over her shoulder, and lowered her head in obedience. Dean's skin crawled as Alastair stepped into the room, followed by Aza Masters.

"You," he growled, and Alastair reached into the bag, pulling out a whip. Dean's eyes widened, and he let out a scream as the whip snapped over his stomach.

"Be quiet," he said calmly. "You weren't given permission to speak." He rolled up the whip, looking to Aza. "I have my work cut out for me, but I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll train him out of this."

Aza nodded, looking down at Dean with a smirk. "I can't even tell you how nice it is to get the last Winchester out of my hair," he said, sighing contentedly. "The younger one will probably be dead by now. There's a contract killer in town, and after that accident I staged- perfect." Aza crouched down beside him as Dean struggled to breathe, unable to bear the thought. He reached out, gripping Dean's hair and staring into his eyes. "That's right. Your daddy? I hired that man to crash him. And you know what? It felt _good_."

"You bastard," Dean breathed, and screamed again when the whip licked a fiery line down his side. Aza laughed, slamming his head against the floor.

"That's not all. You know, Mary Campbell was supposed to marry me," he crooned. "We went to school together. I was her _first_."

"Don't you say another goddamn word-" The whip got him again and split skin. Dean let out a sob of pain.

"You don't get it," Aza said, shaking him. "Your sweet, sainted mother? I was the one who set your house on fire. You were all supposed to die from it, you weren't supposed live. But no, Mary burned up and your father became a paranoid bastard that I couldn't get close to."

Dean just shook his head, his eyes burning. He remembered the heat and the pain, and as Aza touched the tattooed flames on his skin he closed his eyes.

"Now, you'll all be gone. You'll finally be where you belong, your brother will be dead, and I won't have to deal with meddling, interfering beasts like you anymore."

Alastair's voice said, "And Aza even invited some people to help you settle into your new life. Break you in, I guess you could say."

And then the footsteps came, with laughter floating down the stairs. Dean began to shake, and Aza let go of him, stepping back.

He slowly opened his eyes, and looked up to see Garrison filing into the room. Raphael was at their head, a self-satisfied grin on his face and ugly intent in his eyes. Balthazar was nowhere to be seen, and his stomach plummeted. Had he been killed?

"Now, gentlemen, you know the rules," Alastair said to the group. "Don't break any bones or maul that pretty face. The rest, well. That's fair game."

He reached over, grabbing Meg and pulling her in. "She's up for grabs too. Have fun."

There was a roar of excitement, and the crowd rushed forward. Dean screamed as he was jostled, and a hand was down his boxers when a gunshot rang out. The group all turned, and the room fell silent. Dean tried to see what was happening through the legs, but couldn't.

"Who are you?" That was Alastair's voice, Dean was fairly sure.

"I've got many names."

Dean's heart stopped.

"The one I use the most is Loki, but today… You sick fucks can call me Gabriel. Archangel of the Goddess. You see, you idiots made a big fucking mistake."

There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

"You hurt my baby brother. Only I get to do that."

There was the sound of more footsteps on the stairs, and Dean let out a sob of relief when Victor yelled, "Hands in the air!"

oOo

It was a long time before Dean managed to get any answers. The short story went that Castiel had been tired enough to go right to bed, and in the morning found him gone. He promptly lost it, and went running like a madman for Loki. Loki had been first pissed that someone had managed to steal Dean from under his nose, and then furious that some bastard made his baby brother cry. As it turned out, he was actually very fond of Castiel and Jimmy, and while he was firmly against the idea of letting them run loose again, he wasn't going to let anyone hurt them. So they went to Victor.

Dean would have to testify, but considering the kidnapping charges, the attempted rape, and Meg happily telling them all about Alastair's prostitution ring, he figured he could handle his day in court. Garrison, Aza Masters, Lillith, and Alastair were going away for a long time.

oOo

Dean very nearly cried while giving his statement. He was hooked up to enough machines that if he so much as started to sweat they went off, and so he was unhooked from them while Victor sat with him.

The horrible rings hadn't been taken out yet, and he had to fight with nurses every time they tried to reach for them. He hated them, but he hated the thought of them touching those simple gold hoops far more. His feet were bandaged up, his body carefully monitored, and it was all awful.

Victor slowly handed him the written statement, doing his best not to look at his bandaged feet.

"The hospital said that they'll wait until after the trial to bill you," he said quietly. "Sam might have found a ton of loopholes to exploit."

Dean's hands stared to shake as he read his own words. "We don't have to do this today," Victor reminded him. "We can wait a week or two."

Dean shook his head. "No." his voice was steady. "I have to face this." He signed the paper and handed it over. "So, he was her brother?"

"Alastair Gray, older brother to Lilith Gray," Victor nodded. "You remember when she disappeared? She went to the Catskills so she and Alastair could set up shop. And here's the kicker. Her daughter, Ruby?"

Dean's heart sank.

"She was being used when the Feds broke in. Apparently she was planning on running off with the pastors girl, Anna Milton. She'd been cheating on your brother for months- or cheating on Anna, really. We found Anna half out of her mind, locked in a church basement to be "healed" from her so-called afflictions. But Lilith just handed over her only daughter to Alastair. She'd decided she wasn't worth keeping around. Needless to say, Master's has filed for divorce. Ruby's been taken back to a hospital, and Father Milton has been arrested."

Dean stared at the bed, sick. "She just… sent her away?"

"She found out about Anna and threatened to kill her if she didn't leave." Victor sighed, running a hand over his face. "And to top this whole fiasco off, guess who's mysteriously gone missing?"

"Who?"

"Ansem Weems. There are people coming forward with serious allegations. Andy is out of his mind with rage and fear. You remember all those girls who went missing? He's now a person of interest in all of them."

"Fuck," Dean breathed, rubbing his face. "This is bad."

"To say the least." Victor sighed again, clasping his hands together. "Dean, none of this is good. In fact, it's all very bad. You're going to be up against state judges who aren't going to want to let this go. They'll have pressure on them from congressmen and senators to see you tossed in jail."

"I acted within the bounds of the law," he said quietly. "We made sure of that. The Winchester Club has always been careful to stay legal. The worst we've ever done is start some bar fights. The only reason we even wear the 1% patch is because Dad and Michael got tired of the AMA's complaining about how we weren't a real club. So we started wearing those to keep them off our back. We're legal, we're honest, and the only one among us who's got any drug ties is Andy."

"As long as you're straightforward about it, things should be fine," Victor said. He hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want to have someone take those out?"

Dean flinched, hand flying to gently cover one of the piercings. "No," he said stiffly. "I'll be the one to take them out."

Victor nodded. "Just don't throw them away. We'll need them for evidence."

Dean nodded, gripping the blanket. Victor looked like he was going to say something else, but there was a soft knock on the door. Emma stepped in with a rather ugly bouquet, and Dean finally smiled.

She glowered at him, skulking over to shove them into his hands. His gaze softened, and he gently tugged her down to kiss her forehead. She clutched his free hand, and Victor stood up, quietly excusing himself.

"Thanks for coming to cheer me up, sweetheart," he said. He patted the bed and she climbed up to nuzzle herself into the crook of his neck. He gently stroked her hair, fond. "You miss me?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice tiny. He kissed her hair, blinking back sudden tears. It was good to have her close. Hell, it was good to have anyone close that he knew. It had been a long, hard week, and it was about damn time that he had someone to rely on.

"I'll be up and moving soon," he promised. "You'll see."

"Don't ever get kidnapped again," she demanded wetly. "I didn't like it. Don't let it happen again." Emma snuffled into his neck and he smiled.

"I'll try not to let that happen, okay?"

"Okay."

He passed out soon after that, but when he woke up again, his club was there, all asleep in the room. He looked around, smiling through tears as he saw Max curled up with Ava, Jesse and Andy asleep in a puddle of people, and Jake snoring in a chair. Sam was in the doorway with a tall blonde, and when he saw that Dean was awake, the two carefully slipped over to them.

"Hey," he whispered. "You feeling okay?"

"Feeling better," Dean whispered back. Emma stirred, only to yawn and settle back down. Dean stroked her hair and looked back. "You must be Jess."

"Hi," she whispered, smiling. "Sorry we had to meet like this."

Dean shrugged it off, smiling. "I'm just glad we can meet." He shook her hand. "Take care of this idiot. I love him a lot."

Sam scuffed his foot on the floor, blushing a little. "Dean… she's helping me apply for Stanford."

Dean gaped. "Stanford?" he hissed.

"I have the grades to do it," Sam whispered, clearly worried at Dean's response. Dean stared, stunned. His little brother, at Stanford.

"Go for it," he said when he managed to recover from the shock. "Damn. Stanford. First Winchester in over fifty years to go to college and you're aiming for the fucking Ivy League."

Sam brightened, and Jess squeezed his hand. Dean shook his head, smiling fondly. He caught sight of Castiel in the doorway and felt his smile brighten even more. Castiel came in, going over to kiss him sweetly. Sam and Jess tried to leave, but at Dean and Castiel's urging stayed. They were joined by Tara, Rufus, and Bobby a few minutes later, and then the rest of the kids woke up.

By the time the nurse came to check Dean's bandages, he was laughing and smiling again, and the room was swollen with joking, bickering, laughing people. They all obediently got out of the way, falling silent and watching in fascination as the nurse changed them. She was kind enough to explain the process for the younger ones, who Dean urged forward to look a little better, and by the end of the day the world seemed almost normal again.

oOo

When he was finally sent home, it was in a wheel chair. The big, bulky Impala was waiting as he was wheeled out, his feet wrapped up carefully, and he'd never been so happy to see a car in his life. The whole club was waiting beside her, and swarmed him. Ava was sobbing, Andy kept repeating how happy he was, and Emma just hugged him hard. He soaked it up, and when Sam and Benny stepped up with his jacket, he couldn't help the tears that escaped.

Dean carefully sat on the bed, sighing with relief as he got off his feet. Castiel knelt, gently taking off the thick padded slippers he'd been given. He pressed a gentle kiss to the bandages, smiling fondly. Dean smiled, reaching down to stroke his hair with a hand that had finally stopped shaking.

"Welcome home," Castiel murmured, and took the slippers to the closet. They were placed neatly next to the boots Dean might never be able to wear again. The slippers were a bright, cheery pink, a gift from Andy. He'd been smiling when he brought them, laughing and joking until the others had gone. The smile had dropped after that. Andy was near broken. Ansem, they had learned, had been supplying Alastair with girls that he'd raped in order to keep them quiet, and make some cash on the side. They had found him in a neighboring city. He'd been caught, and was facing the death penalty. Human trafficking, murder, rape, and conspiracy meant he was a worthy candidate.

Of course, that was if he even made it to trial. Rufus and Tara, after all, were world class snipers. And Deacon would feel no guilt turning a blind eye.

Dean had ordered his name scrubbed from the records.

"Your article will be in the newspaper tomorrow," Castiel said as he began stripping down. "They've been getting calls from the New York Times about interviewing you. And the Post is interested, too. Would you want to talk to them? Loki's been acting as your agent, simply because he's so good at scaring them off."

Dean chuckled, pulling the top of the black scrubs he wore off. "Yeah, I should get them to talk to Balth, too. He'd love that."

Castiel groaned, grabbing a rather sad pair of sweatpants and climbing into bed. "He'll never shut up about it."

Dean chuckled again, curling up next to him. He was careful of his chest, and once he was settled he said, "I had planned on getting them pierced."

Castiel frowned, saying nothing as he let Dean gather his thoughts.

"I… I hate that the choice was taken from me," he said slowly. "I hate that I was- used. Or meant to be used. I…" he swallowed hard, looking down. "I want to take them out. Let them heal. And maybe one day I'll have them pierced again."

Castiel nodded, and looked at them. "Whenever you want them out-"

"Now."

Castiel, to his credit, didn't even bat an eye at that. "Do you want me to help?"

Dean nodded shakily, and as Castiel gently took them out, he started to cry.


	14. Homecoming

Dean woke up alone, his body stiff. The wounds hurt, and as he sat up he winced. The stitches pulled harshly, the piercings ached, and once he was upright it was all he could do to stand. Walking was even more difficult, his feet sore with new skin and his crutches ungainly. He'd been in bed for six days since he'd been allowed to go home, and was utterly sick of it. He made his way to the kitchen, collapsing at the table. The house was quiet, and outside the sky was overcast. Sam's Ducati wasn't in the drive, and he snorted. The boy had probably been spending more time with Jess.

He stretched, wincing again with the pull on his stitches. As his gaze wandered, he spotted a piece of paper on the table. Grumbling under his breath, he grabbed it. Sam had probably left out one of his papers about law school again-

_Dean_ , the page read, and he felt his hands start to shake.

_I'm sorry. They called this morning. I'm sorry, but I took you up on your offer, and took the little Impala to the bus station. You should find her there._

There were tear stains on the paper.

_I'll be back soon, if I come back alive. Jimmy and Amelia made it to Buffalo. I'm going to have a niece. They wanted her to abort. Apparently she's probably not going to survive to full term, but Amelia won't give her up. Jimmy couldn't stop crying. She's five months along. I think he's ready to kill in defense of her._

_I'm sorry I was here for so little time. I took advantage, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry to have brought this to your door._

_I love you._

Dean felt a sob tear from his throat, and the paper crunched as he gripped it.

_I don't know if I'll ever get a chance to tell you in person, so you deserve to see it at least once. I love you so much, I always have. From that first day we met, probably. You have always been there, and I'm so sorry that I have to leave like this, but I had to take that bus. Please don't forget about me._

_I love you. I love you. I love you. And I will not say goodbye._

_Yours, always._

_Castiel_

Dean burst into tears.

 

oOo

The months dragged on. Dean healed, slow but sure, his body slowly recovering from the damage. The psychological scars were harder to heal, the cruel memories slow to fade away. He often woke screaming, Sam desperately trying to calm him down. Bobby took over the club in his absence, but his little club remained staunchly loyal to him. His bedroom soon became the meeting room for many of them, and he lost count of how many times he woke up to find Andy snoring next to him, Emma sprawled over his stomach and drooling, and Max asleep in the armchair by the bed. It was 6 months before he could be on his feet constantly, and he hadn't heard a word from Castiel.

They didn't talk about it, just like they didn't talk about how Dean sometimes stopped in the middle of his sentence to gulp in air, trying to stay calm. They didn't talk about how he flinched, how he shied away from the older men at the grocery store.

Sam took to bringing Jess around. She wasn't threatening, and she and Dean could bicker over sports and Doctor Sexy without him getting scared or upset. Dean was pretty sure that Sam was going to marry her, and heartily approved. Sam, when this was brought up, just threw his hands in the air and stomped away, bright red.

7 months, 15 days, and 10 hours after Dean found the note, a rusted '73 Cadillac Fleetwood pulled up to the house. It was late evening, and Dean had just knocked back the first drink of the night, and was laughing as Emma tried to braid Ava's hair, to no avail. The room was still rowdy, the club all crowed in the room to watch the first season of Sons of Anarchy as Sam got up to let the newcomers in- "Must be Benny, that fucker's always late!"- but fell silent when Sam let out a strangled cry.

Dean felt time slow as Castiel stepped inside. His hair was longer on top, shaved around the sides. He'd put on weight, looked healthy. He was dressed simple, jeans shoved into combat boots and a loose gray Led Zepplin shirt draped on his frame. He still had the bag slung over his shoulder, and he smiled like he was about to cry.

Dean didn't remember standing.

He did remember wrapping his arms around him, and kissing him like he was about to die if he didn't. He remembered the little sob against his lips, he remembered feeling unfamiliar muscle and the soft hair.

He remembered how it felt coming home.

"I love you," he said, his breath hitching as he pulled back, catching Castiel's face in his hands. "I love you so much, please, never do that again."

"I won't," Castiel promised, kissing his palm. "I love you. I missed you so much-"

The baby started to cry, and Dean looked over to see Jimmy standing there with a tall, thin blonde holding a tiny baby girl. His throat caught, and he and Jimmy caught each other in a hug, clinging to each other. Jimmy was far too thin, nearly skeletal, and when he pulled back they both had to wipe away tears.

"Goddamn, I missed you," Dean said, clearing his throat. "Next time, leave a number."

Jimmy let out a choked laugh. "Yeah, Dean. I'll do that."

Castiel took his hand, and Dean smiled.

Finally, his family was home.

 

oOo

As soon as he heard Sam's motorcycle leaving the drive, Dean relaxed. The house was quiet again, the club having quickly made their excuses, Jimmy and Amelia heading over to Michael's house with the baby, and Sam going to Jess's for the night. Castiel sat waiting in the living room, his eyes fond as he watched Dean resolutely turn the look.

"About time," he said wryly, and Dean chuckled. He slowly made his way back to him, and smiled when Castiel spread his legs so he could step between them. Taking his hands, he kissed the palms gently.

"I've missed you," he murmured, and Castiel's smile softened.

"I missed you too," Castiel said, standing up to wrap his arms around Dean's waist. Dean curled into the embrace, settling his head on Castiel's shoulder with a sigh. "I was out of range a lot, and then my phone got lost somewhere. I did intend to call you."

Dean kissed his neck, smiling. "That's enough for me."

They slowly made their way to the bedroom, and Castiel looked around with a smile when he saw the new décor. Gone was John's bland, sturdy furniture. Dean had invested in a lavishly comfortable four poster that sat lower to the ground, heavy green curtains draping from it. A new dresser, dark teak, had been placed inside as well, and a comfortable chair of a coordinating green had been found somewhere. Everything had been changed, and it was finally Dean's room.

"This looks nice," he said appreciatively, and helped Dean to the bed. Dean tugged him down with him, grinning.

"I've missed you, you ass," he said fondly, and Castiel pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

"I missed you too."

 

They married the next week, Castiel in his robes and Dean in a rather tattered suit he'd found buried in his closet. The justice of the peace gave them a strange look, taking in Dean's crutches and the hoard of bikers crying behind them. The ceremony was short and sweet, and the party just the same. Dean's stamina still hadn't completely returned, and by the time people left the house, loaded down with cake, he was half asleep.

"You going to fall asleep on our wedding night?" Castiel teased, as they settled into bed.

"Give me an hour," Dean yawned. "I'll come around."

Castiel kissed his neck, and Dean's smile broadened.

"Welcome home, Cas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! There are some side fics for this universe, so let me know if you want to read them. Namely, the National Geographic article on the Winchester Club, a few fics with Sam and Jess, and possibly one with Ruby and Anna.
> 
> Again, a massive thank you for reading.


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